The sweaty race of life

You're running. Running to nowhere. Running to everywhere.
Hot. Heavy, humid. A bead of sweat rolls down the middle of your back, running away from work.
Little bead of sweat doesn't know the faster it goes, the less gets done.
The heat piles up. The work not done.
No one is looking. No one cares. No one asks.
You continue to worry about getting work done, working yourself toward madness.
You're mad. I'm mad. We're all mad, to get things done. Yet everything gets done; in its own time.
Why work in this heat. What about play?
It's hot. Work is heavy. and humid.
The rolling of time takes its toll on the master.
But the work must get done.
Faster, faster, faster.
The work must get done.
Until there is no more work to do.
Never ending...work.
The work must get done.
Until there is no more time.
Never ending...work
No one is watching.
The work must get done.
Never ending...
Until the little bead stops and realizes.
The more it runs, the less it is.
Until it is gone.
Evaporated away.
And time ends as the bead transforms and another takes its place.