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The Workaholic

Poem about frantic workaholics ,

Submited By :

sara

Date:

25 December 2006

Author:

unknown

Currently 3.07/5
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Rating: 3.1/5 (43 votes cast)

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The Workaholic

Sleep? In the raging day that is my heart,
For my heart carries the full-raging day,
I walk in anger playing my loud part
Immersed in the troubles of the part I play.

Sleep? I can no more sleep than see my life
As a dream in which I leave no trace,
D'you suppose that my life's strife
Is merely a form of Cosmic Waste?

Sleep? How can I sleep, how can I bear
To stumble, tremble before some God,
When my life's full of my life's care
And cannot - will not - bend to a distant nod.

Sleep!? I live! I work! I have import!
I carry and direct myself with thought!

-unknown -

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Comments on this poem:

schwenis Says:

Tue Nov 27, 2007 9:38 am

what a crap

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