Sunday 29 May 2016

The Dead Grass

Longing for the touch of green,
inspiration and passion lacks.
Only blacks and greys are seen,
a forest of adjustable seat backs.

A host of passwords and usernames,
Gym accounts and pay-day loans.
Roll for corporate mind games,
136 days to sun and sea foam.

A whole life lived through a screen,
Hunched double – dead eyes crawl.
To cash and coldness our futures lean,
Waiting for the chiropractors call.

Those robotic hours tick away,
Actions listless, pale; pre-programmed.
Their potential crumbles here to lay,
Beauty eroded now greying sand.

Compliments and encouragement shrouded,
Veils of self-interest – a narcissists marriage.
Tool to execs, our true value clouded,
Lambs to the slaughter in a golden carriage.

These mice don’t look quite right,
It’s definitely time to go.
Step back while I take flight,
Notice served, 4-weeks as the crow.

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