The Folly of Working from Home

The light of the day begins to fade away.
 
How can I look upon a gray sky,
When the illumination that sits so close in front,
Stresses my heart, my soul, my eyes into slow decay?

I promise to not further rhyme with an “A,”
But you must say….
That is the last time, but what, can you blame me?
My eyes have simply dried like the dead sea!

Oh to be so clever and free,
That I expect you to read this rhyming scheme,
And further wonder its premise, but not to reveal,
That the lack of one is most likely the appeal.

Can you understand? Do you, for me, not feel?

This stress and strain can be so hefty on my brain,
That I lack my concentration, I lack the frame,
Of consciousness to write coherent dialogue.

My favorite ride in a theme park is a water log,
Damn! There is it again, wandering thoughts, wandering rhythm,
What is it that is causing this schism!?

Perhaps, if I slow, perhaps if I write, perhaps it will calm my ache tonight.

And so I write, and so you read,
And so my thoughts become more clean,
More full, yes, less clouded, no more like steel wool.
Boy that was a mouthful, but you can see my point of view.

Less is more, take it as so!

You must audit your intake, beware the glow.
Else, your mind may freeze, your thoughts may wander,
But on this, please ponder, You may find screens to be your undoing.