Musings by The Poet Loriet
Rat Race
Guilt keeps me eternally motivated,
pounding the pavement,
pirouetting into the next task,
never able to break through the winner's ribbon,
because the standards are ever-changing.
The thickly painted finish line
gleams wet and white--
a fresh, pristine mirage
that keeps disappearing over
the next horizon,
taunting and teasing,
yet I continue running in place,
never smelling the gay and fancy florals
or noticing the crystal glass ceiling.
Blue promises glimmer
just beyond my peripheral vision,
then blow away
on the wind's song.
I always was the slowest,
the last one picked for the team,
but I just wanted to participate
in the race.
I continue the charade,
but if I should happen
to meet a blind eye,
I will nonchalantly
walk.
Lori Beal
pounding the pavement,
pirouetting into the next task,
never able to break through the winner's ribbon,
because the standards are ever-changing.
The thickly painted finish line
gleams wet and white--
a fresh, pristine mirage
that keeps disappearing over
the next horizon,
taunting and teasing,
yet I continue running in place,
never smelling the gay and fancy florals
or noticing the crystal glass ceiling.
Blue promises glimmer
just beyond my peripheral vision,
then blow away
on the wind's song.
I always was the slowest,
the last one picked for the team,
but I just wanted to participate
in the race.
I continue the charade,
but if I should happen
to meet a blind eye,
I will nonchalantly
walk.
Lori Beal
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Rat Race
Rat Race