This is a short poem about the race of life and how it can sometimes seem like a never ending cycle that no one can break and some wouldnt want to break.

The Rat Race.

Moving.

Steady pace.

Chitter chatter; soothing?

Squirming rats in a close run race.

Sweat.

Walking on.

Keep going, can't stop yet.

Soliders united; singing the same song.

Busy.

All rush, rush.

Hot, tired, stressed, quesy.

Please won't someone please shout hush!

Walking.

Left foot than right.

Marching.

The streets are our desserts of the day and night.

Pressure.

Every aspect of life dependent.

All busy, busy, busy, no leirsure.

All for the gold pocket watch or engraved pendent.

Just the beginning.

Of the nine to five.

Black suits, brown suits, pinstripes, plain; a system of streaming.

Till death comes with his rusty old sythe.

Don't stop.

Must continue on.

What seperates me from the rest of this crop?

An army of people, ten thousand strong.

No rest for the wicked.

Pay rise; promotion.

Our days a blur; our vision vivid.

Won't someone stop us? End this commotion?

No end in sight.

Just me and my Blue Tooth.

No partner, no kids, no time, no life

Is this all worth it? In absaloute truth?

Till retirement we go forth.

Our feet beat like drums.

Its the same all over, east west, south, north.

All packed together till our office block into sight comes.


Submitted: September 07, 2007

© Copyright 2022 Anne Hastings Hughes. All rights reserved.

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air

your poem didn't get published, your other one 'ocean comotion' did not either-- you may have to delete them and start over... good luck to you....katie

Fri, September 7th, 2007 2:31am

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Thank you very much for telling me Katie, my computer has been having connection problems and I ended up having to switch it off before Id finished properly.I have replaced Rat Race and hopefully now you can read it.Please tell me what you think.Anne.

Fri, September 7th, 2007 5:43am

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