59 (28.09.2014)

Ambition is a sword of happiness
Which cuts the holder and then steals his time.
So why is it I feel I should confess
When hard work and desire is all my crime?
The minutes shrink and seconds become days,
The hours run away like rabbits scared
And months and years pass by me in a haze
The things we wish to do stay unprepared.
A list as long as any busy arm
Do this, do that, and scurry to and fro
Ambition is the fruit of all my harm
Barbed hooks that rip my flesh and won't let go.
Though they say, "What you give is what you get."
I long to press a button and forget.

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