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poet707747


 Zombie Land


Washed over, overtaken by reality;
Waves crash hard against my hull.
The storm recedes after the pounding;
I am broken, beaten, disoriented.
The summer sun burns my eyes;
Afloat in Zombie Land.

Many years of seniority built;
At the pinnacle of my trade.
Isolated in this position,
Few trained to perform my job.
Overtime magnified, working 16's;
Entering Zombie Land.

Well paid? Yes I am;
Yet woven in the fabric of my life
Is a need for freedom.
Numbed by the Novocain
Of long hours in the mill, I'm in
The depths of Zombie Land.

Too many people stand outside
Praying for my job.
Downsizing of the workforce,
Creating overtime out my ears.
Where is the balance, Mr. Boss;
Even you live Zombie Land.

Drifting through my final years
Without an anchor to drop.
My sails tattered and torn;
My rudder bent, no time to repair.
Thus is industrial life in America;
Welcome to Zombie Land.

My career is drawing to a close;
I smile looking to the future horizon.
So ready to leave this lifestyle of
Shift work and forced overtime.
Retirement… ready to be refreshed;
Preparing to leave Zombie Land.

29Jun12


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