Another morning
And the daylight cycles into a worker's eyes.
Again his silent cry
As thought projects him into business competition.
"Where is my treasure-trove of Life,
Where find the tangents to reality:
Worth, wealth, and liberation
Woven into tasks of repetition?"
Worth, wealth, and liberation.
Will they be always arced above his ordinary reach?
For he is spliced, it seems, into mankind,
Yet yearns for more reward
Than salary, knotted week by week
Into the skeins of dole,
Where a little have is morseled, sugar-coated
To stretch beyond withholding.
Worth, wealth, and liberation (the treasure-trove).
You know he found them, one by one.
First, worth, and that by chart, not accident.
A sonar loud and clear directed:
"Put shoes from off your feet!
Here, standing space is holy ground, is where I am."
And clothed in weightlessness and priceless worth
He felt the tons of sand-time concepts lifting.
