Nature Of The Beast

I've done my job

running the rat-race

shunning the sun

perpetual clock-watching

nightmares of screaming alarms

Shortened sleep disturbed by tomorrows

of half-shadow mornings

ageing the skin and ringing the eyes

of a time-stamped existence

scheduled-in and filing-out

Impaled to a desk

or chained to hard labour

shackled by the norm

shepherded by the masses

gathering with the swarm

of busy bees buzzing

their hive of timidity

with its guidelines and rules

for the pen-pushers, pay-loaders

and the cloth-cutting bankers

Its merits and rewards

are special green leaves

that should grow on trees.

The percentage is against you

and a bigger slice of pie

is taken than given

You have the carcass

that the vultures have left

Then it's back home for tea

to eat what you buy

then collapse in a chair

in front of a screen.

Three-quarters of existence

to earn your rest

and in most of what's left

you must sleep to recover

or blow-out your health

in brief moments of pleasure

desperate excitement of slackened-off valves

a steam-release for your mettle fatigue

and a taste of what freedom is like.

For this is "real life" and you must concentrate

You cannot be tired and you cannot be late

or you might lose your place

in the long queue for money

You're nothing without it

no status or possessions

no fun or vacations

for it all has a price-tag

How precious and priceless is life.

And now it's all over

I'm excused of the tread-mill

That was the pay-off for giving my life

Twilight years they gave me in trust

turning to dust as I tick through old-age

along with the clock that sits on the mantle

but I cannot get used to this empty space

of meaningless time and too much to waste

I wake up at dawn

with the same old purpose

It's hard to do nothing

It's tiring to be aimless

I've forgotten the things I planned me to do

The fire has been spent in its making

The dreams I once had have been left on the shelf

and its function is creaking and aching

as I fill-up my days with the things I'd have loved

Should the chance have been there in my youth

I used to imagine the fields and the trees

the nature of Man and the beast

Of living for living and no greener grass

Of contentment and smallness

of one of God's creatures

hunting and frolicking and feeding its young

by Elms, Oaks, and Beeches

survival it teaches

as fulfilment of life

in itself is the meaning

No race to be won

No others to better, no future to fetter

no tomorrow, no then

just now, the beginning, and end.

So I spend my time walking

and seeking those feelings

that once I had known

before I was grown

Just half a sensation

of hopeful inspiration

a realisation of what I have lost

to my dreary acceptance

and dull resignation

that everything's owned and everything costs

though I look at the trees

leaves free in the breeze

sheep graze the shade

on someone's land, of someone's brand

then grace someone's plate or clothe someone's hand

and I look up to see, in the claws of a tree

the skull of a beast, out of place

a symbol of death, I see my face.

Reviews

[MattVoscinar]

This poem made me laugh in some parts and angry in others. Not become some parts were better than others, but because of the truth that it holds. Perhaps we are simply slaves to our stagnant 9-5 lifestyle that we have so sadly adopted and have grown content with. Perhaps we really can only escape when we are able to retire, grow older, and die, sacrificing the post beautiful things in life in the process. This poem is the very epitome of a capitalist society. Wonderfully done sir. Wonderfully done.

[J. Randall Dodd]

devons,

i liked this work very much. i appreciate the idea and sentiment spoken of in this poem. very nice indeed...

just one nit:
s1, l11 "impaled to a desk" sounds off, maybe "impaled upon a desk", or to fit with the idea of chaining or shackling to things, maybe "moored to a desk". just some thoughts i had while reading.

once again, good work. later.

sincerely,
jr

[Desert Dreamer]

Wonderful writing, speaking of things that I have felt for some time now, that we waste our best years working, and we end up with nothing to show from it...there was once a better life, but our culture has taken that away from our ancestors. We were once free. Your poem has strengthened my resolve to fight against this way of life. Thank you for sharing.

[Ladysue]

Oh, wow, this goes from the 'running rat race' through mid-life of said status's to 'I'm excused of the tread-mill' I love this line ...excused from the tread-mill. it just gives such an exact notion of how life can dictate. The ending is quite powerful. Excellent writing...

[Elizabeth]

"So I spend my time walking
and seeking those feelings
that once I had known
before I was grown"...

Yes, quite.
What were those dreams? I was to be a ballerina.. a writer, a mother.

And you? What were you to be?
Seems to me, you are ... what you had hoped to be.

"Of contentment and smallness
of one of God's creatures"...

Beautiful. Graceful.

"Just half a sensation
of hopeful inspiration
a realisation of what I have lost
to my dreary acceptance
and dull resignation
that everything's owned and everything costs"...

God, I hope not. Dull resignation... the ultimate evil. The ultimate undoing of childish dreams.

" out of place
a symbol of death, I see my face"...

This has everything I want in a poem.
You did it. I always want that kick in the gut at the end of a piece, and you did that. In spades.

[Chloe..Across the Unive..]

Really masterful ... many emotions run within this poem ..
What it says to me is money does not bring happiness nor does the lack of it.
So there has to be a middle.. I felt old reading this as I am guilty of so many of the things mentioned. Dreams unfulfilled and life wasted ... amd forgetting the old cliche, stop to smell the roses or one day the clock will have no snooze button and time is up.

You wrote a very fine poem on that image ... !
Amazing ...

Chloe

[KatiePie]

Reading this brought me through some different emotions, happiness, anger.. I loved it! This is what true poetry is, this is art. Devons what you write is so beautiful it takes my breathe away during the beginning, in the middle and at the end. Gorgeous work