Working 9 to 5


The constant rumble of the fans above my head,
That cool me down, so I don't feel too tired.
The crashing bangs, of heavy metal things,
As the machines continue to work,
To produce metal sheets.


The thunderous press machine,
Thumps another piece of metal,
As the production line keeps moving,
Full of different people.
Each of them standing, in their own specific spot;
Capable of breaking the chain,
If one of them is gone.


So just hang your metal onto the track;
The thing that made me quit before, but I came back.
And now here I am, stronger and wiser,
Better than before;
Now they've offered me the job full time.


But I know, I can do better than this,
For I wish to be a poet, an author and a lyricist.
I just keep looking at the clock,
Waiting for another minute to pass.
****!  I'm sure it's stopped;
I've surely been here longer than that.
No; it's just because,
I'm not using my head
And thinking to make time pass quicker
And not just waiting for it to be 10.


At last!  It's here, we all give a silent cheer,
Or a sigh of relief, that the day is done.
At last, now we can all go home.


(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

I know what my intuition tells me,
Lift the veil so you can see,
That the ground on which I stand upon,
Is the floor of reality.
Resting motionless between the embrass of two waters,
a pivotal point for two contrasting brothers.
Fools say the brothers are a reflection of the ground we stand upon,
pushing the deluded fantasy,
never attempting to decipher reality.

I know what my intuition tells me,
Open your eyes and listen to reality,
The machines we built have turned against us,
Painting a picture fantasy,
Passing it off as reality.
The fools are consuming what the machines are feeding, causing us to spiral down, downward descending.
Now we squander upon this fantasy,
Never lifting an eye to see reality.