Reccuring thoughts of glory
when the reality
is much more mundane,
ordinary Mondays
of songs unsung, poems unwritten.
A light shines for many,
that cannot or will not
place the gem to the beam
and share the stream
of one moment in a river of eternity.
Lost in the visions of others,
we cannot face the mirror.
For the gleam in our eyes
betrays the terror of our lives,
fear of stumbling and skinning our knees.
Fear of reaching and achieving our dreams.
We wake and pray the nine to fivers anthem
over toast, eggs, and bacon.
Hopin’ and beggin’ that our job will be there
when we get there
at the end of the 826,
to clock in and give our timin’
to others that live from the suckin’
of our life force.
Insdiously vadering moments of tranquility,
violating creativity in search of economically
gaining ground on others running psychotically
in the same circle.
Round and round and round the circle.
While songs remain unsung,
and poems remain unwritten.
Private tears in bathroom stalls are
wasteful moments of despairing calls,
calls to other human beings for validation
that my existence has meaning.