Worn Bones

April 2, 2009

Another day facing the pyre,

the desk stacked with monotony

that buries the body of potential,

of could have been, with bills.

The cubicle, a casket for ambitions

beyond nine to five, embalmed

with age and responsibility,

murmured wishes a dirge,

final memorial to sanctified remains

of the dreams of youth.

NaPoWriMo Read Write Poem Prompt #2



  1. Hate your job LOL? That’s the first thought in my head. The second was about loss of innocence. Either way it’s a great poem.

    I LOVE the darkness of it. But there’s hope with the last line. It’s like the dreams of being young again is what makes it all worth while.


  2. nice also…keep it up my friend

  3. Nicely done, and eerily reflects the feelings I have been experiencing while staring at my own desk…

  4. Work and the workings of death– very nice.

  5. I don’t quite see my desk as romantically as this. :-0

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