Misty Monday Moan

Sometimes it is hard not to feel like you are not drowning

In a sea of distemper, of ill fitting ease.

But for once I wish I could put my head above the waves,

Break out and escape, from this rolling broil of imagined toil.

Maybe I am stuck in a rut that has been years deep,

Engulfing me I am sure in its clothing of sameness.

Year in and year out with only short breaks to fracture

The great dull profundity of daily life.

Still it is not great when you come to hate,

That daily mash of circular friends who espouse hate because of difference,

Of shame, and long buried castaway hopes melting in the pot of indifference.

Not me, please, not me I seem to shout.

Pluck me from this life and give me my dreams.


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