The Rat Race

 

I am spun like a spinning top

my vision blurred almost to blindness

I hear nothing but the whir of the top

I am overcome with a sense of nausea

I beg for it to stop and set me free

 

In time the revolutions lessen

some vision is restored

Then I am still, unsteady, off balance

as I focus on my surroundings

Anxiety and the need to lie down

overcome is all I feel

 

The spinning top is ubiquitous

it consumes and holds us fast

When released we are disorientated

unable to concentrate or focus

attention spans are diminished

 

The mouse on the treadmill

is similarly caught in his spinning top

When released he is good for nothing

There can be no recreation or creative pursuit

Even appetite is gone

 

We have come close to insanity

to losing our identity

and purpose in life

 

We are in the cauldron of self destruction

encased in the final spin

where quality of life is cast aside

We can only be productive in the spinning top

beyond that hope of more 

has been abandoned