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

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