There he sits, <br />Listening and talking <br />About things I neither care for <br />Or make any attempt <br /> to pay attention to. <br />Referencing his business methodology, <br />he congratulates himself at <br />the skills he has so cleverly defined. <br />I yawn <br />And attempt to stay awake. <br />8 months down I think, <br />4 to go. <br />Hang in there, David. <br /> <br />There they sit <br />Conference call <br />After conference call <br />Making plans about nothing <br />Ado <br />To do <br />To done <br />To did <br />To never did at all. <br />And I wag my finger <br />Because here I sit, <br />Attempting to stay awake <br />so to grasp <br />the chain <br />that I once called a dream. <br /> <br />Here we sit, <br />Revolving doors <br />And pushup chairs <br />Swiveling <br />Swilling <br />Swatting <br />Swearing <br />And missing out, <br />Oh how we miss out. <br /> <br />Because all we know <br />Is that while we sit, <br />And we talk, <br />Feigning importance <br />And shuffling ideas <br />Of roads <br />upon rows; <br />we find castles, <br />That lead to nowhere. <br /> <br />And <br />There I sit, <br />one kind, <br />of a kind, <br />of empty little road, <br />Driven by <br />headless horsemen carriages. <br />No dreams <br />Just a 401k, <br />a stall, <br />And detail men. <br /> <br /> <br />But still I sit <br />Somewhere, <br />Behind a gate, <br />Over a fence <br />to a chain, <br />which gracelessly <br />leads to <br />a cemetery. <br /> <br />Here I sit. <br /> <br />Oh, <br />how I sit. <br /> <br /> <br />Copyright (c) David DeSantis<br /><br />David DeSantis<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sometimes-it-s-better-to-stand/
