A poem regarding the treadmill we call life.
“I’m on a treadmill, can’t turn off, or slow down.”
“Get off it then, man, and turn round that frown.”
“Oh, that I could. But who’ll pay the bills,
the power, the rent? They give me the chills.”
“Please! Life’s meant to be lived, not simply endured.”
“That’s what you think, but be rest assured
we’re put on this earth to work, then we die.”
“That’s a pretty sad outlook, the world’s overrun.
Please look out for nature, the kids and the sun.
There’s no guarantee, no way to ensure,
you’ll get to the end and all be secure.”
“But how would I measure, know when to let go,
when to go faster, or when to go slow?”
“You’re watching the belt slipping under your feet,
counting the miles whilst you take a backseat.”
“I’m starting to listen, at last comprehend.
The trouble with treadmills there isn’t an end.”