Sitting, daydreaming, flying
to the endless boundaries
of a silver screen—
the world is all at hand
waiting yet to be seen,
and hearts are up and running—
desire inside so keen
to get by, day by day—
the world is all at hand,
yet what does that wide world mean?
Sitting, daydreaming, dying
at a desk, a destiny foretold
to sit to buy and wait to die
for those growing needs
are growing like evil seeds
rooting deep like anchors
to hold a vessel from the open seas;
the journey starts here and ends here—
Feet rumbling beneath like wingless eagles,
old gallant warriors dying in their cradles,
creeds no longer born; it feeds
on people like you and me
imprisoned in cubicles
with iron bars around with only one open side
never used to escape; still stands
a living proof of the leash we have inside—
security lies in a decorated cell
of quotes and lovers and idols
trying to make it home
no heart for adventure and risk
we all wait to die at our desk.
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