PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Pressure slaps hard upon my back
like a vice it presses upon me
shallow breaths and bursting vessels
I turn to see a million task masters chasing me
Too much for these tied hands to handle.
Too much for this stolid mind to bear.
The deadlines kill me time And time aGain
a thousand deaths have come and gone.
I groan with the weight in my tired shoulders.
As I leave the wake of one taskmaster
I plan the funeral of another, only the frills fail
as I forget to wail and serve only crackers
so the simple plan to beat the beat
and time after time the dead procession line
Squeezes tightly like a jar overstuffed with stuffed olives.
Pressed a third time flattened and limp
the midnight oil burnt and the candle ceased on both ends
I plan my Excuses and execute my devices late
but great and worth the wait...
I hope still as the pressure yet again rises
more crackers and olives,
clamped again pressed with vices.