work and love

the solace
of work, that island of busy.
it keeps
us from
the truth, the reality of the lives
we're living.
where is the joy, the fun,
the love?
what is the point
of all these hours
bent
at the wheel of work,
Monday to Sunday,
week in weak out.
the grey blah of life,
a cloud upon us.
is it money, is it fear
of the unknown,
fear of getting old
and being alone,
is it the lack
of true love and wanting
at last to be home
with a special someone,
anxious for a kiss, a
hug, a word of comfort?
work and work,
keep at it and
those days will never come.