Her skin tires of the day

A mask of fumes and day old makeup

Containing only her physical form


Her mind and spirit parted

By societies control over time

Her heart seeking…


A non-refundable ticket

For an unreserved seat

Standing room only


She seeks refuge publicly

Sharing drinks, not words

Stuck in a neuron gridlock


Anxiety grips her conscious mind

Her unconscious unheard

Devoid of reason or purpose


Decisions governed by thought

Trapped by routine

Shrouded by programming


Nature and neon window dresses

Her busy, doing world

Loneliness forming a crowd


She sleeps fitfully

Her spirit whispering ideas

To her inner child


Suggestions, coincidences

Tap her on the shoulder

Turning, she catches her own eye


Allowing herself in

She removes the halter

And frees the grateful workhorse

One thought on “Workhorse

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