When there is always something else to do,
how should we know when to rest?
Lists of labours, obligations and tasks
fill my mind, a never emptying inbox,
each one tipping a little more
cortisol into the sea of stress.
If I were to do these things the moment
I thought them, I would never stop.
There is always the next thing,
just one more job that may make my
eventual ease even sweeter
seeking satisfaction not sufficience.
But it never stops. Even if the body
is still, the mind races still.
Preparation for an infinite future
I can’t possibly know, yet the stream
of possibilities still flows with no rest
until an impossible certainty is known.