Poetry

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Work, toil, sweat, dream, repeat.

Monday greets me with a blank stare as the cold chains of status & self-imposed necessity slip with practiced ease over my wants & desires. I wander like a drooling Pavlonian with hypnotic grace, through the fabric lined maze of mediocrity. The Endless possibilities of youth are choked by familiar disenchantment and calloused cynicism.
Like ants beneath a big shoe, limitless imagination conjures scenes from the Lord of the Flies as restraint stretches against the weakened cages of rage & disillusion.
Unending wires & cables snake through my space, anchoring my soul like bungee cords strapped to a fleeing Falcon.
Time moves like bleeding trees in January, oozing life from indifferent gashes.
Dreams of legacy & grandeur rust and corrode like graveyards of hulking machinery.
Strained conversation clutters my doorway as uninspired futures swirl overhead in the dull breeze of weariness.

I float above the din, on the buoyant resolve of determined hope, in a sea of chaos.

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