end of tether

slide through the day without making waves
exhaust the possibilities of rest and sleep
let the moments of sheer exhaustion keep
you from contemplating the fate of slaves
the tasks before you this day yawn like graves
odorous like them yet by no means deep
the slimy tentacles of dullness seem to creep
towards you bearing massive knotty staves
in dreams the worst things seem to crash
like ocean waves upon a sleeping beach
on your befuddled and defenceless head
reverberating with the echoes of the smash
powerless now either to learn or teach
but sore and filled with overwhelming dread

how broad the shoulder

no one can bear a burden for all of life
the weight must sink one or be cast off
before the mind falls into a deep trough
or disaster strike with its heavy knife
avoidance of all struggle and all strife
escape from that most dreadful slough
neither of these is in itself enough
to justify how humans man or wife
or child or singleton or those otherwise
may through their living act or signify
what purpose gives the fact of life its fire
seen through normal not-quite-clear eyes
the art of living's just another lie
we tell ourselves before the final pyre