A Hundred and 99 Words For Work, And Paycheck Isn't One of Them

There is a poem in me
That sings and dances
I only know the rhythm
As it twines around my bones
Like ivy pushing out my skull

The poem creeps up
Sprouting leaf here And leaf there
Questing the sunlight and heavens
As the poem roots into my marrow

This joins me to the rest of the world
Great green loving worlds of life and breath
Connecting in like to those whose bones
Are being crushed and reborn from the inside out

I don't think there is a plan or fate,
What I do think.. is that there's Work
Work that makes more work...
And work that gives back...
makes one feel better, heals,
creates while being created.

Like the ivy, this poem creates soil,
Breaks up the dirt into tinier problems,
Makes room for more air and purifies,
And leaves leaflets for tomorrows' sunrises.

This is not mine anymore in sleep's hold
I give this to you, so that you may grow
And dance, too, while knowing no song or tune
To lift spirits higher in greener worlds
We drink of earths and skies eternal
While it snows cold outside, we can dance with life.