To the life that belongs to only you and farwell to a career that has served me well.
The 17th year
A lot of places,
Very little time, or so it seems,
You were never made to be bound,
And the feeling of being bound relies,
Upon the choices you create for yourself,
Once upon a time, there poeple,
Not admire for the position, job or lifestyle they led,
But for the character, integrity and desire to be the best,
In who they are and what they did upon this earth,
Where did it go?,
You don't remember the name "CEO" or "Mailman",
You remember the "friend", "hero" and even "fool",
Jobs are duties that are made to done as well as you can,
They were never made to become shackles,
It grows through desire, determination and preserverance,
In moderation and not through abuse,
Because through abuse you acquire not gain, but loss,
Of the foundation of who you are and what you are through yourself,
And the people you know,
And it is through this that I reflect on the 17th year,
Of a career that I believe must have its final chapter with me,
When you lose the passion, hate will try to take its place,
Until finally, it consumes everything that you do,
You don't have to do anything,
But you must assume responsibility until the chapter has ended,
A painful separation into the unknown,
Is always a scary place to be,
But experience and faith are always your friends,
In the darkness,
And with this,
I begin to close the door,
And seal the book away on a career,
That has always served me well,
The dancer moves without a trace,
Poetry by Saga
Read 807 times
Written on 2007-05-24 at 18:41
Tags Farewell
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