To make ends meet

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I wake to a world of relentless demand,
Trading my dreams for the bosses hand.
Each step I take, a hollow beat,
A march through days that repeat, repeat.
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The clock is a tyrant, it chimes and it calls,
Its echo resounds through factory walls.
Tasks I detest, yet still I comply,
Not for passion, but the need to get by.
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A soul confined in the shadow of need,
Planting no roots, yet sowing the seed.
This isn't the life I envisioned to lead,
But hunger and bills do not heed a creed.
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I wear the mask, my heart concealed,
In the marketplace where nothing is real.
Smiles are sold and pride is leased,
Bartered away for the scraps of there feast.
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Though weary, I labor, my spirit protests,
Chasing a dream that poverty tests.
Yet within the drudgery, sparks still ignite,
A glimmer of hope in the long, dark night.
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For though the days feel cruel and grim,
I hold to a faith, however dim.
That one day these chains will finally break,
And life will be mine, to mold and make.
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So onward I toil, though it cuts to the bone,
In a world that demands, yet leaves me alone.
But within me, a whisper, defiant and sweet—
Someday, somehow, I’ll make ends meet.
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Comments
The protesting spirit. Pretty tough!Â
Very well written, Peter. Â BÂ