POEM - Taxing

Like some aging conquistador
Tilting with windmills
I dream the impossible dream
Fight a seemingly unwinnable fight
Face the impenetrable facade
Attempting always
To unmask the ominous foe
And like those windmills
The foe notices me
Not at all

These are the stories
Born of a Munchausen syndrome
I invent to aid my journey
Help me to find interest
In mundanity
Pushing numbers
Representative of my efforts
As accounted by the company
A distinct dollar amount
That quantifies my existence
Signals to an indifferent bureaucracy
That I must now be weighed and measured
In the most convoluted procedure
Known to God or man
As I feel I have journeyed
To be counted in the city of David
Burdened by the cares of humanity
I offer on the alter
My unadulterated soul
Cast on the scales of mercy
And perhaps this year will prove different
The numbers will fall my way
I will not be burdened​
By my mostly unrepresented taxation
The figures will add up
My deductions and withholdings
Will cover my obligations
So I set my jaw
Take up my lance
And ride into the fray
To fell another windmill
In pursuit of the Ides of April
Road weary
Blurry eyed
Nearly defeated
But remaining resolute