There’s (Always) Washing To Do

A poem…

Image: Nik MacMillan on Unsplash

There’s washing to do,
but with no guarantees,
yet nothing compares
to the moments we seize.

This world is in flux,
inconstant confusion,
lost within its dreams,
seeking an allusion.

The meaning of life
lies not in the open.
It rests within us,
waiting to be broken.

Even if we sit,
avoiding the answer,
our body will scream,
a yearning for candour.

It longs for control,
some version of semblance,
as if it is asking:
Where’s my independence?

The irony is:
we already have it.
The funny thing is:
we hate to admit it.

The choices we make
are ours and ours alone -
whether what we eat
or if we should atone.

But always remember,
no matter what you choose,
at the end of the day,
there’s washing to do.