Worth

This needs some work, but I’ve got to get back in the swing of things somehow. For Three Word Wednesday, prompt words grip, prefer, thread.

Why worship the glory of the bottom line,
Laboring to multiply unneeded goods
While leaving the Good undesired?
We are what we prefer.

Each day the same:
Grip the key
That sparks the fire
That turns us to
The widening gyre
Incensed gods
Who tromp and pound
Affection and wonder
Into the ground

And so we prove our worth.
Weaving threads of death
Inconsiderately, life
Ornate but bare within.

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5 thoughts on “Worth

  1. My word! Isn't that true. I used to be an administrative manager and loans officer for a large international banking concern; I got fed up with all the wheeling and dealing and money grubbing and in-fighting. I opted out, picked up my tools, and went back to being a craftsman builder, like my father. Your poem says it all.

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  2. seems complete to me..when it comes down it perhaps there aren't many things that are 'worth' anything in life..at least not material things..or the grind of doing jobs that essentially (on the whole) make no difference to the world..but what would we do without these things..who would we be..it would be a complete shuffle up of human existence..and I don't think we're ready for that..we will grind ourselves out of existence..but perhaps the next evolution of humankind will do something different..maybe better..Jae (Good to see you again!)

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  3. Alt, Thanks for the kind words. We're kind of stuck in a way–not many of us can just pick up and leave the techno-industrial system anymore, especially those without the luxury of a previously learned trade. Or some farm and cattle land. I think those that can opt out should. For the many more who cannot, I think they should make whatever resistance to the spirit-killing surroundings as possible. But that's just me. Thanks for the awards, friend–I'll try to figure out what to do with them later!

    Jae, Thanks for being such a faithful reader, and always leaving great comments. I have a sneaking suspicion that we are already well on the way to grinding ourselves out of existence. There is hope, though, that enough people will return to a life of affection and wonder to recover ourselves. At any rate, I will continue to hope, and in some small way work toward that end.

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