Poetry 168: The Glass Hive III

As I sit in this chair
The world outside seems oblivious
With a mind of its own
Its rhythm seems raw, no pretension

I imagine the people walking aimlessly
Some chatting, some texting with glee
Some with happy smiles, with curious little faces
While others strut with glamour and grace

But the minions around me
Roar mad like crazy
A nine-hour place of chattering
Like frantic birds twittering and chirping

When does it end
This reality of mine?
When will it be over
This endless hangover?

Will I find a way out of this cell?
Can the clouds steal me away from this hell?
The winter wind could take me elsewhere
To a far off place where ideas…and dreams will never scare


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