A/N: This is a rough, forced attempt at a rhyming poem of more than 4 lines for wisemann's poetry contest.
Eager to restrain us, it rises, an ugly recess,
blocking us, monsters, programmed to daily observations,
drowning and drenching us in the waters of stress,
overtaking us, soaking our sponges of motivation.
Lacking confidence; a teary blend of saline
hinted with the notorious signs of depression
an elegy for difference, lack of routine—
change is impossible, even in discretion.
The empty rise-and-fall of night and day
a piggish attempt to pressurize and relax;
waves and bouts of anxiety, dancing away,
fading on these long, rough tracks.
Classified in ranks: the labored and unlabored,
undistinguished in uncalled punishment;
those ease despised and those ease favored—
together as one, weep the songs of hope and lament.
These endless days are numbered; the end is near,
it’s a patient wait, impatient on fragile ropes,
the unknown lies ahead, mysterious, a delivery of fear,
We’ll be there soon with these dying hopes.
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