Edged laughter of teachers,
bone-tired from the joy-slog weeks passed,
speaks of an adult relief,
R and R for bruised hearts and knocked heads

Coming off the front line,
hard fought thought-inches precariously gained,
we sit in living room street cafes,
flowing vin du table,
inhaling rest like Gauloise

The distant classroom thud and rumble never fully fades,
echoed in sandbags of intelligence to be pored over
deciphered, summarised in triplicate,
for later summits

But it will wait

For now, we’ll catch a show, an eye,
maybe even a lie of peace,
for one duvet-warm morning

Soon, we’ll be back to inspecting boots,
buttons, buckles, sharpened pens ready,
waiting for the whistle

I don’t want to move
All I want to drink is *****
All I want to do is snooze
I think the screws in my head are loose

My room reeks
I haven’t cleaned for weeks
My body’s turning weak
But my family didn’t hear a squeak

I don’t know when it started
Suddenly my life went upended
Am I becoming a sloth?
Or living is just a bore?

I’m so tired
of feeling so tired

I told myself
"I will have a great day"
We tell ourselves things that are so cliche
but makes us feel even more isolate.

Despite the positive affirmations
I felt so unmotivated and everything I did or told myself I will do
made it feel like it was obligated.

In lethargies grip and restless mind,
I come again upon the day.
Where demons of my minds design,
find acres bare to frolic and to play.

An emptiness that invades my core,
until only black thought dwells in there.
Where tiredness is all I can feel,
and darkest depression is thoughts heir.

No calming thoughts to ease my mind,
and no safety can my lost soul yet feel.
The endless sensation of putrid stagnation,
no layers to other emotions have I left to peel.

Foreboding and deep weariness dark as shadow,
accompanies each thought and task within my day.
And though I seek escape by non-participation,
against thought there is no strategy I can play.

Turmoil to life's patterns of sleep and wakefulness,
where a soul and mind each attacks my own mortality.
Until left with just one clear and rational thought,
Of how simple and complete my final escape can be.

Internal standards drive and shape.
We all must try to maintain
The self image of wearing the hero’s cape
So we scurry, scuttle and strain to obtain
The many titles to follow our name

Individual achievement prized over all
Has led to never becoming enough.
Never proud of our value, heads tall!
We must be diligent, empathetic and tough
To earn respect or become a heeded voice

We stack responsibilities, jump the hurdles
Rush to service, stress grades, run the mile.
Too many doing too much--my stomach curdles.
Everything done for the sake of doing
Never adding to development of ourselves

Such a paradox are individual achievements
The more you do the less pride you feel
Running ragged your empathy caves and relents
To the exhaustion that corrodes at your steel
The internal words, “Someone else could”