I sit steadily,
Stoicly,
Looking forward and letting the time slip,
Slip,
Away.
I begin to do the math,
21 years of life,
With 7 hours of work a day,
Plus five semesters of college,
Minus countless hours daydreaming,
All summing up to me sitting,
Letting life slip,
Slip,
Away.
I begin to question things,
What was it all worth?
Who have I helped?
Who have I wronged?
Where did all my dreams go?
Will they ever visit me again?
I begin to feel the rage,
It swells and blooms,
First slowly,
Then quickly,
Until all I do is,
Sit steadily and,
Quiver.
1 comment:
I think that Freud would say your poems are very phallic. I would say that you still haven't e-mailed me.
Also, I think that most people work eight hour work days. And, I suspect you did not work too much during your preschool years.
But, all that aside, I think we should watch Officespace now that we have joined the cube world. (Or at least I have; is your office a cubical?)
Also, after reading some of your other poems, it seems that a recurring theme is what type of life is worthwhile. I personally like the Greek idea; as long as you are remembered (even if it is for driving people from their lands and hearing the lamentations of their women) that you have succeeded. I think that we search for what makes our life worthwhile in religion, work, and our families. I think that if you can go to sleep at night satisfied that you left the world no worse than you found it when you woke up, you should not be too upset.
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