The Grind

There are twenty-four hours in the day,

so when twelve are for work,

how much can you play?

The craft has taken every second without remorse.

Blood and sweat,

and sleep, of course.

Ten years on the grind will wear anyone to dust.

There are pieces of me on the road,

dirt under my nails,

grit in my hair... and my bank account?

It's been a long time since it saw a 'plus',

or any sign of the work surviving entails.

If I bow out now,

could anyone lay blame at my feet?

At what point does passion overcome the need to make ends meet?

Meet me in the middle friend,

and toast with me to the end of an era.

I am worn thin,

but maybe your journey is about to begin and you-

you might find better luck.

I bless you with a clear mind and sharp eye,

I wish you thick skin and steady hands.

May you think quickly and plan with care -

and when the grind gets you down,

may you have a friend to share that weight.