POETRY
A Crushing Rat Race
A creative mind, crushed by the daily grind.
Words running around my head, demanding their place,
desiring to be read, but here I sit instead.
A merry cog in the money machine, living the dream,
part of the corporate toil, part of the team.
Longing to clock off, so my soul can be freed.
But inside, I create, I fly, passion igniting my imagination,
a flight of fancy, dancing before my eyes.
Fingers twitching, itching to write, to capture the magic.
Lest it fade away, into the obscurity of my bustling mind.
Lost for eternity, confined to a memory of the moment,
countless verses vanished, as I pace through the rat race.
Write I must, so I steal time when the world sleeps,
I reap the benefit of silence.
Fleeting moments, by dusky moonlight, I invite my midnight muse.
Induce the focus of a wearied soliloquy, so that I may, one glorious day,
make the words my pay.
