The Strain

The Strain

The cursed clock rings out

I, unwilling, fight it

I drag it on before admitting defeat

The clock is right.

I roll out of bed

Tired feet hit the ground and give way to

Tired legs, hips and back

The first minutes of my day aching,

Wondering why I left the bed.

From the moment I get up

I dream of that bed and

Curse the stiffness and pain.

I push on, forcing myself not to think about it

Not to think about me

Just get through the next task.

After you do this, you can stretch

After you do this, you can lay down

After you do this, you can get up and move.

Task by task I lumber on

All   Day   Long.

I always promise myself rest

The clock always disagrees.