Another. Poem

yet another daily grind gone by

and how have we fared?

our backs bent ever closer

to these screens of flickering glare

our candles lit yet wavering still

chilled by mechanical cold

our sprits try to rise above it all

but struggle 'neath this toil

from morn to noon to setting eve,

ever our fingers race

across these keys, typing empty truths

while a truer life we do wait

waiting waiting, ever still

till the sabbath's eve

then do souls arise and shout, 

at least, for the next 2 morns.

*wheee. corny and crappy. funfunfun.*