Fruits

Feelings flutter in unlikely waves
The end is seen in the beginning
And however hope is begged to come upon the scene
The fruits of our labors rack stalwartly on.
A deep breath and turning the back away
Drives the passion firmly as a nail
Into hard oak boards because no one listens.
If we suppose that good always begets good,
Perhaps we are encouraged to try harder
But the likelihood is that the lid is dropped on our fingers
And no one, not one person, sees the truth
Or values who we are and what we do.
So we step cautiously, looking both ways
And recant our promises to take the bad to heart
Because we are better than that and we know it.