The seasons are turning, winds are a-churning,
we do what we do, keep on doing—
holding tight to the reins just trying to maintain
as the turn of the tide keeps accruing.
It is so inane how we carry our pain
taught that nothing is gained in the sharing,
so we hold it inside till the protons collide,
paralyzed to the present impairing.
Darkness approaches, the shadows encroaching,
self-loathing and doubt notwithstanding;
it’s hard to succeed, interruptions impede,
this duress wasn’t part of our planning.
And no one can hear when you try to be clear
'bout demands superseding supplier.
Still sadder for us that the ill pay the cost
as small puddle becomes a quagmire.
Overwhelmed by commands and the snide reprimands,
just a cog in the wheel of progression;
how many replays until changes are made
at the whim of some admin's discretion?
So we do what we do just trying to get through,
drawing hard from the lessons we're learning,
work ethics aside we confirm our reply,
soon the stem of this tide will be turning.
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Thank you for reading my poetry and sharing your thoughts.