The unused mind

The idle hand, the fallow ground,
A curious ache, a hollow sound.
No task to chase, no goal to meet,
A languor settles, bittersweet.

Perhaps it’s purpose, lost and frayed,
The unused mind, in shadows laid.
We crave the fight, the mental strain,
The sweet relief of conquered pain.

Or maybe rest, a friend disguised,
A chance to see what’s long been prized.
The hobbies whispered, passions quelled,
A time for dreams that time withheld.

So listen close, to what’s beneath,
The sadness veiled, the yearning teeth.
Is it for structure, duty’s call,
Or freedom’s song, to break the thrall?

This quietude, a gift, a test,
To find the wellspring in your breast.
For work brings peace, but so does ease,
The choice is yours, to find your breeze.