the woe of the workaholic

for those never-repeat moments,

shame I don’t have space

is the love of who rubs close

what matters really

 

the time to figure out

life, and youth and heart,

it’s all too consuming, of

the allure of work

 

mood grumping

productivity slumping

I’m a weak iron filing

my desk’s a deadly magnet

 

A poem for Day 30 of NaPoWriMo: a poem in reverse (last line first)

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