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Something I Add Adds Something



I do what I do,
but I do it on behalf of something else.
Like a spleen or a gallbladder.
I function, but the fruits of my action
accrue elsewhere.  Where?
Others rarely benefit from what I do—
I am too apart, too far removed.
No god whiffs and smiles at my scent.
And yet I act and won't repent.
The satisfaction, such as it is,
that I obtain from my being and doing
cannot be what augments what already is;
yet something I add adds something
to the all.

All poems are written and copyrighted by Michael C. Rush.
None may be republished or repurposed without permission.