“Just a job–” crackled imperfections
Drain each day’s joy,
Stealing every drop
From the surface–
The sorrows of this wasteland.
“I don’t care–” parched hearts
Plead for belonging,
Begging for an ounce
Of kindness from them–
Travelers in this wasteland.
“Burned out–” dust clouds
Choke out each triumph.
Crawling toward a mirage,
Each one shrivels to dust–
Abandoned in this wasteland.
“Just quit–” cracked riverbeds
Absorb every comment,
Waiting for a drop
Of gentleness–
Alone in this wasteland.
“They don’t listen–” desert
Masks all veracity,
Hiding those craving kindness.
Concealed from sight–
Gems in this wasteland.