There he sits,
Listening and talking
About things I neither care for
Or make any attempt
to pay attention to.
Referencing his business methodology,
he congratulates himself at
the skills he has so cleverly defined.
I yawn
And attempt to stay awake.
8 months down I think,
4 to go.
Hang in there, David.
There they sit
Conference call
After conference call
Making plans about nothing
Ado
To do
To done
To did
To never did at all.
And I wag my finger
Because here I sit,
Attempting to stay awake
so to grasp
the chain
that I once called a dream.
Here we sit,
Revolving doors
And pushup chairs
Swiveling
Swilling
Swatting
Sw earing
And missing out,
Oh how we miss out.
Because all we know
Is that while we sit,
And we talk,
Feigning importance
And shuffling ideas
Of roads
upon rows;
we find castles,
That lead to nowhere.
And
There I sit,
one kind,
of a kind,
of empty little road,
Driven by
headless horsemen carriages.
No dreams
Just a 401k,
a stall,
And detail men.
But still I sit
Somewhere,
Behind a gate,
Over a fence
to a chain,
which gracelessly
leads to
a cemetery.
Here I sit.
Oh,
how I sit.
Copyright (c)       David DeSantis