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Flipping The Desk Of Life

Our souls have no value

in the name of money

we exchange a piece of ourselves

our purpose, drug around and now muddy
they told you about the riches

and the happiness that they could loan

the sparkle in your smile

did you know it’s a lease to own?
Your cubicle is clean

a picture framed of your kids and wife

liquor in the side drawer

you hope to not go home to a fight
You should be working on the reports

you also should have been an artist

mother said to get a real job

or your chances of success will quickly tarnish
you gave up the pencil and sketch pad

and the one love you needed

an abortion of the soul

your aspirations had been defeated
the promises of a promotion

are just bait to keep you seated

might as well collect the check

even though you’re barely needed
and then it came the day

when this man had suffered enough

he flipped his messy desk

ripped off his tie, looking like tough
no one said a word

as he dashed right through that door

his arms up in the air

“I’ve got a life to go restore!”
his wife said he’d gone mad

and threatened to leave him for bad choices

but he locked himself away

no more negative voices
and with a pencil and a pad of paper

he drew up years of visions

characters of grace and power

as he applauded his decision
a divorce from the predictable known

to dive into the purposeful forest

barren and cold

being new, he felt much like a tourist
he fought and he fought

drawing endless into his days

“I can’t do it, it’s a mistake,

and it’s hard not to be afraid”
he thought he was about to collapse

because the right to dream is real

keep on drawing, keep on fighting

skipping yet another meal
Is he someone? Is he happy?

Did he regret chasing purpose in life?

Kids have new clothes and some new shoes

now go ahead and ask his wife

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