the year of lyrics: a poetry project

my search for inner-peace, one poem at a time

Day 112 – Under Pressure

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With feet firmly planted
More like stuck to the surface on this winding road
From growth to idleness
They are seriously glued to the present
For seconds they contemplate
Until the hour reveals that it’s too late
Sweating out the fever
That has built up deep inside
With bloodshot, itchy eyes
They scratch uncontrollably
Charging against each sharp minute
That is merely aimed in their direction
And they run out of sight
Hiding from each cutting edge
Avoiding the tense stress
Because they were jailed
Steam rushing for an exit
They are tossed around
Cells bouncing off the walls
And hope is tossed into the pile
Of other wasted away scenes
Yet atop my plate I’m presented:
Succulent shapes of perfectly cubed roots
And a mouthwatering mountain of garden greens


Thoughts? Feel free to share!

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