Work Day

The hours snail by

Inside my spirit dies

With each passing minute here

Under pressure under fear

Treated as incompetent

Smiling without sincere intent

Tasks drag on endlessly

Unchanging as the tide of the sea

Finally all is put to rest

So let my day and work be blessed


About The Lost Poet

I write because I find inspiration. It is my hope that through my writing some connections may be felt. Everything I write comes from my experiences with life, and with the people that I love. I try to remember to see myself in everyone, and everyone in myself.
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