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Tags: work

Someone doing a repetitive/routine job, just to survive

To William

Unrewarding sound ruins a peaceful sleep

The time awakens my deepened soul,

Every morning, without a doubt, scarring my life

Hands of mine,

Taint Mother Nature’s creation

Back and forth, forth and back

Lost mind wandering beaten tracks

Mountainous regions, a hefty challenge to climb

Body’s tear cries for comfort

Temple of mine, defaced for no true man

Limp, driftwood I become.

Andrew Cole 30/06/2009

This story is protected by International Copyright Law, by the author, all rights reserved. If found posted anywhere other than with this note attached, it has been posted without my permission.

Copyright © This story is the intellectual and physical property of A.W. Cole. All rights reserved.

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