Sustenance..

It's at moments like this, I feed my hands the endless bounds of chores
To cast the winds by the motions of labour
To raise the clouds and their reign of thought
It gives purpose to the passage and meaning of time
It seems to me that it's a question of faith
Faith that in abscenses, anxieties will be subdued
Faith that in concern, curiosity will return
Faith that in distraction, right action will strengthen
For me faith that the night bares a star
Is no different to the faith
That what I hold dear, is near
I have faith that whatever life bares
To weigh upon these shoulders
Or tries to blister in my calloused hands
It bares upon my labours
The promise of fruit and its sustenance of flesh.