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Mon, 12/04/2017 - 19:15 -- Beena

Countless seconds go by.

Minutes, hours, days.

My work goes unnoticed,

but still I'm steady in my ways.

 

Don't get me wrong

someone appreciates what I do.

But they only see what is done,

not what I've been through.

 

My work, it tires me.

Wears every bit of me down.

But yet my gears keep on turning.

I may whine, but make no sound.

 

I don't take it personal

because few understand.

That most of us cannot live

like grandfather; like Ben.

 

Some of us are given a hand.

Others have no place.

But no matter what our spoils,

we must keep our pace.

 

Many of us don't get a moment

or we squander our chance.

For some of us, the beat we create,

is the only one to which we will dance.

 

Some wish

to just simply survive.

To just experience day and night.

I'm not so easily satisfied.

 

Countless seconds go by.

If ever a shot;

minutes, hours, days.

Count, I will

                          - Watch

This poem is about: 
Our world

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