on cubicle farm life…

For five I spend one third…
of my days bathed in the fluorescence
of high electric bills
high tech…
high expectations…

heightened meaninglessness…

Noble yes?
It’s become the file…
Buried in the cake…
from my time spent…
shackled to a chair…
to headaches…
that faint glow…
and debt…
seemingly insurmountable.

Except for time.

Pennies become grains of sand…
And seconds become water molecules…
wedded into motion…
day after day…
back and forth.
Causing metal to brittle…
and chains to weaken…

Until either they…
Or I…
Snap. Give in. Surrender.
Leaving me damned…
Or somehow vindicated.
That recycled air…
Cogs in a machine…
Free coffee…
Endless meetings…
Small talk…

Won’t ever define me.

That this stepping stone
Is nothing more than just that.
Worn away by diligence…
By tick tocks…
By patience…
Double clicks…
Left-left, right-right…

Sacrifice…

For a bluer sky…
A blacker night…
Brilliant sunsets…
Cooler breezes…
Lighter pay checks…
and sweeter days…

Days that are owned by no one…

But me.

– Tad Hunt

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