Excuse Slip

It will not always wait for you,
it will not always seem
inexhaustible—

It will not, for it cannot,
offer only oranges and wine,
mutton or sweets from the depths
of its frayed gunny sack—

It will not always countenance
retreat, deferment, time-outs, pleas
for one more, refusal to engage—

And it will not grow
any leaner, any fatter, any
kinder, any darker from the tithe
of your particular suffering—

For what is the nature of life
but this grand indifference which all
are equally apportioned—

And what is the nature of becoming
if not the always-coming-back
into the body and what
it must finally learn—

For why should the road be
half-trodden, why should the song
be partially unbreathed—

Even the half-ruined
barrels by the wayside
can open their mouths
to collect the rain—

In response to Via Negativa: Burden.