Nervous Ambition

Tiny drops of snow and burning winds
freeze my face and hands in gusts of January
gripping my tools I wince at the future
as a power plant screams to life I remember
books of blueprints and Professer Holinger
the way he would sit on a stool with old sweat
on the brow painfully whispering hints and clues
to prepare me.
Now all is cold and wet
the rain pours soaking my every move
as if to laugh at wasted efforts
and nights of painful studying.

Did I fail at life?

Security wished me a last farewell
As late payments began to pile up
the fresh fish glistens in the water
with smiles to hungry pelicans
and yet I wish I was like them.
At least they had pupose
nay, a meaning to continue existence...