So often…

So often times, I’m doing something.

It is nice to do nothing.

The human machine is not meant to work all of the days.

But so often times, I look for praise.

Often, I write, this is my release.

Locked in my mind are other chambers.

I often find the words and writing to be the keys.

Often, I run and it feels like I have a bad heart.

I hear it hurting while it squirts blood through vessels.

I often feel I work too hard and will die young.

But, I feel my life just starting to begin.

No, that cannot happen.

I beg to my supreme being.

See that I am reborn, and that I want more life.

I often take for granted things like life.

But we don’t live life twice, and I just want to live mine right.