They stand outside in the pouring rain.
I sit inside before a warm and cozy flame.
They got cold sorrow engraved within their eyes.
I got the thoughts of Fortune locked inside my mind.
They run around and scream, not knowing what to do.
I type a one into my calculator, and another one makes two.
They look towards each other, blaming each and everyone.
I look into the mirror, whispering: “It will soon be done...”
They live a boring life, with no hope at all.
I think otherwise, as I finish my another call...
They run around in ecstasy, begging to have more.
I adore my own intelligence, as I look around the store.
They still find things even better than before, and never make it to the door.
I sit and laugh at them: “Make me money... make me more...”
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Author:
Zojinjo (
Offline) - Published: January 30th, 2011 11:58
- Comment from author about the poem: A poem about the dirctor of a Toy Factory. Late at night, as he watches the bored children, standing in the snow, he thinks of the coming day of good buisness. The children love that day too, but in their drift don't realize they "work" for him...
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 37
- Users favorite of this poem: Cheeky Missy
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Comments1
La, but it has quite a nasty touch in his vile attitude. I wonder that he can stand staring his own image in the eyes in the mirror! I was enjoying picturing it in the first stanza, but the enjoyment faded as the picture took on its ugly hue and shape....your profile image just below was almost too fitting for the thought. But I enjoyed it nonetheless...haha, why's that?
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