The siren blares
Robbing me of dream completion
The abusive Clock I labor for
and it's authoritarian partner Economy
demand I yet again
don my battle gear
Into the fray
this weary warrior
trudges off
to the spreadsheet battlefield
with only his diminished wits
as a survival shield
from the brain rot mentality
of corporate monotony
Far removed
from the playground anarchy
I walk by every day
on my way
to Big Boy Land
I seek a boost of energy
from the chaos I envy
of kids running and jumping
every which way
Feelings of melancholy
descend upon me
as their shrieks of joy
fade in the distance
the nearer I get
to my sterile cubicle prison
Imagination
Once so full
and unabashedly free
when we rode these swings
Dries up precariously
once we leave
childhood games behind
to wear these burdensome chains
of adult responsibilities
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