There are 1440 minutes in a day
More than sufficient time
To sleep, eat, be on our way
To earn our daily dime
Or perhaps engage in rhyme.
480 minutes to devote to sleep
120 involved with food
300 earning our keep
The remainder? To the TV glued?
Or, perhaps, with something lewd?
When you “retire”
Each day goes on and on
The serenity to which we aspire
Proves elusive, come the dawn
And our purpose feels withdrawn.
What do you love doing?
That’s the place to start
Don’t tell me “TV viewing”
I prefer some form of art
Or work connected to your heart.
Silicon Valley denizens work long hours
Seldom inspired by love
They forget to eat or hit the showers
All for money, when push comes to shove
Or fame, prestige, power (sort of).
Dedicated artists have focus
They often enter a trance
As they work on their opus
They engage in a mystic dance
Have their faculties enhance(d).
