poetry

The Rat Race

Living to work
Working to live,
An unbalanced circle
That takes more than it gives.
Struggling to make it
Through another day,
Too tired at the end
To enjoy the pay.
Hidden from the sun
Shut behind closed doors,
Saddling ourselves with baggage
That pulls us to the floor.
A dozen squeaks of hate
For every squeak of joy,
And the constant question in the background
Surely life must mean more.

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