worried

It was always difficult finding time to dream
Wading through cloud, looking for the silver seam
It was always difficult working against the grain
Finding a space above mere loss and gain

Now my life has been inverted, upended
The clouds have cleared, serfdom has ended
Or at least, has ceased to be an easy road
Now my art is the only burden, the only load

All I have now is time to stare, to aestheticise
To dream forever beneath endless blue skies
And I do not mean to fret or complain
But sometimes it is hard to strive without strain

I do not miss the drudgery, the genteel bondage
I do not wish to return to that clouded age
I spent toiling for someone else's profit
It was a diurnal inferno, I will not return to it

But I wonder if the trade I made was wise
Can I really tell pain from blue skies?
Most of all, was I right to dedicate my days
To an art that satisfies but seldom pays.