Little absentee

A life of work lacks any meaning.
It is the awe at nature greening,
its tranquil seas and sombre sky
that sets out beauty's purpose high.
When Monday comes I wish to die.

I find no joy in stocks or selling.
I've found it in my wifes slow swelling.
The child that I now long to see -
we call it "Little absentee".
When Monday comes I cease to be.

I utterly abhor the staring
on pointless numbered sheets - despairing:
-"I want to write; I want to fly!
Life's just too short to pass on by."
When Monday comes I wish to die.



Poetry by An-ders
Read 663 times
Written on 2010-11-11 at 15:27

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F.i.in.e Moods The PoetBay support member heart!
It is indeed horrible living to be stuck in a job that doesn't animate any sort of passion within. The drudgery and misery of this reality are very well-expressed in this - took me back to my call centre days! *shudders* :)
2010-11-12


John Ashleigh The PoetBay support member heart!
Absolutely incredible, and so powerfull.
Keep writing.
2010-11-11