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Regrets at being shorted in life

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Regrets at being shorted in life

Regrets at being shorted in life


Here I am at me place of work.

What the fork.

Eight dollars an hour.

And I watch the three lousy  towers.

Eight dollars an hour. 

And me life runneth sour.

Hourly patrols I walketh up and down.

And dreameth all around.

Me sparest minutes are behold.

As I pen me thoughts, in me own little world.

Such as life's been a waste.

Such as life's gone by in haste.

Never married, never had a child.

Sadness carried, sadness runneth wild.

Life would have been filled with so much vigor.

If only me was endowed a lot bigger.

At 54 years old.

Hopelessness is on hold.

Room with mom.

Go out with Tom.

She does me clothes.

He does me toes.


However this Spartan night.

Everything has gone alright.

No whistles blown.

No flashlight shown.

No questioned looks.

No encountering crooks.




The 10 to 6 is almost through.

The crack of dawn is coming into view.

Off to the horizons early birds take to the skies.

On clockwork, too, tenants begin to rise.



For me…me day is soon in the books.

Its pages filled with ashamed looks.

Mindful of a seeded start and an unharvest finale.

And an end like no other, without a tally.

Me cry will forever be harboring about being distorted.

And innately shorted. 


Odd, me guess is mankind.

Where being long and esteemed is divine.

Soon this shift will come shortly to an end.

Soon, too, with a sigh… this life at being predisposed.  

If only people knew.

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