Ballad of The Unemployed
Night crawls into day, but it no longer stirs me,
April into May; undisturbed, still I sleep,
Vain triumphs, small laughs and cheap thrills all amuse me,
As I sit yearning olden days; memories I keep,
Once awake, I am told that today the sun shone,
That the world turned once more; that life carried on,
But, in my little world, the sun has no meaning,
Awake in short bursts, my mind calmly dreaming,
Digesting a decade; a weight on my shoulder,
Mourning the loss of the best years I had,
Uglier, older, yet wiser and bolder,
As it stands, my epitaph reads,"Quite a nice lad."
Like a plant, I am rooted to this very spot,
Feasting on fat; belly shaped like a pot,
Progression a task it appears I’ve forgotten,
Alone, curtains drawn, in the dark, feeling rotten,
I could happily spend the rest of my days,
Locked in my thoughts, with an infinite gaze,
The sun greets the world as I fall back to sleep,
Sowing nothing, yet wondering why I can’t reap.
