Fires in my footsteps

An average day of work for the man was filled with several key components. Dividing the deep, returning the lost, and looking amiable while doing it. Easy as a thought, a whisper, a walk, a hand in the ill touched places. Of course, easy jobs make easy pains, and those are perhaps the very worst kinds. The kinds that everyone suspects and no one talks about. the day can continue with an easy pain, continue into the unmentionable night, until the moment finally severs and a man will be incapacitated. It is difficult to think of tomorrow when the simplicities of today are what weigh us down. They just seem so normal.

And that is perhaps the stigma of an easy job. For those who think dividing the deep and returning the lost seem like complexities, not even mentioning the lofty goal of amiability, we can change your mind with a few different verbs and nouns. Anyone could and anyone does. It is all how you spin the tale, and right now we are spinning it backwards. Where the ones with the small jobs, the easy ones, all think they are small people. Easy men. Easy women. The ones with complexities are given a wide birth. That they both bear burdens is quite true, but when the world is running amok with irregularity and the honored get to work in their honored way, we forget the juxtaposition it is to our easy men, our simple labor fellows, ordinary day.