Life in the snowglobe
(random poem of the week)
from 
JoeUser Forums
JoeUser Forums
Friday morning wake up in the snowglobe and shake it up,
trip over the phone cord, find my keys, caffeine in my cup...
stop short head back, stretch it out, neck crack,
then back down to my toes and back.
Locate myself, toothpaste on the shelf, look at the stranger in the mirror,
give him a wink, spit in the sink, and now the familiar guy appears.
Check the to-do, see this through, or at least until 6 o'clock,
before I punch out, I'll eat lunch out, but now head down my block.
Low on gas, time passed, lane change, flashing lights,
In my cup, sure enough, it's all the same in spite.
Of dirty jeans, faded shirt, and stubble,
Into the parking lot, slow down by stop signs, and scan for trouble.
Snow settles, turn it upside down and shake,
the snow lifts, into 5th my car shifts, and my world quakes.
You're not here, not near or far,
so during the commute I can dispute whether it's hanging out or the bar.
I miss this, recklessness and stress,
I trick myself into believing I'm not blessed.
I eat fast, I make a dash, but the door closes,
I think back to when a lesson like this was the question she poses.
I'm now relaxed and I'm back where I started,
I move back into my dent, grab my ID in case I'm carded.
I move slow, I drive fast, or at least when my conscience isn't looking,
I fake it well, but they can all tell, that I'm less a pro and more a rookie.
In the first round I'll be voted down, or at least offered demerits,
and those cons who smile at my misfortune are the ones fortunate enough to prepare it.
I can spare little time and energy for anyone who would do,
Who would take me off base, away from this place, away from you.
Wherever you are, or whatever form you might take,
Somewhere among these dirty streets and polluted lakes.
Lies my willingness to get past my own walls,
and when I break em down I'll build a momument dedicated to their fall.
And when I pass the structure all lit up at night drenched in graffitti and snow,
I'll be the only one, who will have the patience to know.
That in this ornament exists a man who lost his directions and all of his plans,
so he's guided now by the voice in his hands who offer him suggestions and seldom administer commands.
trip over the phone cord, find my keys, caffeine in my cup...
stop short head back, stretch it out, neck crack,
then back down to my toes and back.
Locate myself, toothpaste on the shelf, look at the stranger in the mirror,
give him a wink, spit in the sink, and now the familiar guy appears.
Check the to-do, see this through, or at least until 6 o'clock,
before I punch out, I'll eat lunch out, but now head down my block.
Low on gas, time passed, lane change, flashing lights,
In my cup, sure enough, it's all the same in spite.
Of dirty jeans, faded shirt, and stubble,
Into the parking lot, slow down by stop signs, and scan for trouble.
Snow settles, turn it upside down and shake,
the snow lifts, into 5th my car shifts, and my world quakes.
You're not here, not near or far,
so during the commute I can dispute whether it's hanging out or the bar.
I miss this, recklessness and stress,
I trick myself into believing I'm not blessed.
I eat fast, I make a dash, but the door closes,
I think back to when a lesson like this was the question she poses.
I'm now relaxed and I'm back where I started,
I move back into my dent, grab my ID in case I'm carded.
I move slow, I drive fast, or at least when my conscience isn't looking,
I fake it well, but they can all tell, that I'm less a pro and more a rookie.
In the first round I'll be voted down, or at least offered demerits,
and those cons who smile at my misfortune are the ones fortunate enough to prepare it.
I can spare little time and energy for anyone who would do,
Who would take me off base, away from this place, away from you.
Wherever you are, or whatever form you might take,
Somewhere among these dirty streets and polluted lakes.
Lies my willingness to get past my own walls,
and when I break em down I'll build a momument dedicated to their fall.
And when I pass the structure all lit up at night drenched in graffitti and snow,
I'll be the only one, who will have the patience to know.
That in this ornament exists a man who lost his directions and all of his plans,
so he's guided now by the voice in his hands who offer him suggestions and seldom administer commands.