You bring your work home with you, yet the solution
Remains elusive; tunneling underground
Back to the office, or the lab (whatever we're calling it at the time).
Unsure whither you come in the morning, go at night,
Chained to a chair, belly over belt,
You're commissioned with lassoing fire (even as they've stolen the sun).
Up on Mount Olympus, no such pain to be had
When the kids need crayons; dinosaurs
Roam the land while we pretend every day is Christmas;
Our minds are elsewhere, heavy loads are not for Gods
But beasts of burden to carry.
You had to create us, did you not, ye Gods!
How else to achieve immortality but to transfer this mortal fear,
Fixation with death, and the concomitant's struggle to eradicate it,
As I disintegrate before your eyes.
