Unemployment Blues

O morning, bearer of the recurring weight,

You find me stationary where the many stride.

They carry purpose in their swift, deliberate gait,

While I defend the space where I reside.

Let the world inquire of my path and aim,

Let their glances weigh my empty hand;

Value does not wither with an absent name,

Nor does the spirit fall where it must stand.

This dark passage is no permanent estate,

But a winter through which the root survives.

Unburdened by the labor they equate,

I hold the timeless measure of our lives.