Left right left, and a magazine of stress!
Fired away are the barked orders through the halls,
Lasered on listless Jeeps, straying instead towards another mark:
Camouflaged excellence commanded to be tested—except tested for too long.
Papers like leaves collected to be discarded,
Yet always given a second-hundredth thought;
Fingers swollen from frustration, heart racing in exhaustion,
Mind ground to dust—while incompetence and ill-equipped spirits march amok!
YOU ARE READING
The Practice of Poetry: Poem Collection
Thơ caA collection of poems I wrote some time ago for a poetry workshop class. I decided I wanted to share them with a larger audience and not keep them hidden within a file or folder forever. They range in topics, so their placement within the collection...
