Sitting here at eight at night,

I wonder what I see in sight,

Is it a book written for the soul,

Or a different kind of goal?


Earning a wage, up at seven,

Being in hell, wishing for heaven,

Taking the orders I don’t want to follow,

Finding the boredom so hard to swallow,


Feeling a freedom not yet allowed,

Travelling the land and being wowed,

Seeing the sights to refresh my mind,

Opening my eyes, not being blind,


These are the things that I wish for now,

Not knowing when, if or how…

Sitting here at ten past eight,

I have let my mind inflate…


Visions of futures yet to unfold,

Let my memories be dreams,

My wishes untold.



©The Secret Poetess