Working Life?

Thoughts from a moment of introspection, February 2009.

Longing for release from this
Pergatorious existence, so well personified
by Sisyphus, as we tiredly toil
to complete futile jobs of work.

The hatred of the day sucks out
the life and inspiration of the night
only allowing a wish to crash and
sleep instead of conjuring lines of
inspiration or playing with the kids
who already receive too little attention.

The faceless drudging massed humanity
going to and from the place where they make,
what is named in comedic irony, their
living, dying little by little on their journeys
there and throughout the chores of the day,
clock watching and minute counting.

This will be the end of humanity – life ebbed
away until all that live are the fat cats
and the lucky ones living off the land in
self sustaining wonder, but also in fear of the
racing vermin that the rest of us have become
with our hollow eyes and souls, our hatred
of those above and jealousy of the foresighted few.

And so we long for the old days
when workers mattered and were
not expected to do the jobs of others
whilst they, our colleagues and brethren,
moved off to another place of pressurized,
conveyor belt working, where they
initially found life in their job, before
being returned to the familiar shells of
themselves, with little respect for their own work.

An original poem – please seek permission before reproducing in any way.

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About Mark

I'm a forty-something Welsh-American. Other interests outside writing/blogging and very amateur photography include gardening, cooking, and sports, esp. rugby union.

Posted on February 23, 2009, in Poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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