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Francis Quinn

Upon Waking

Enslaved by the daily routine of nothing much,

Life lived under this pall.

There is no solace in it’s adherence,

I’ve perfected the cup of tea, that’s all.


Find no point, just blunt indifference,

Spirit buried in months, endured, endless.

Projects listed, but unfulfilled notions,

Stare down upon the wretched friendless.


The instrument sits in silent rebuke,

The ideal time, yet it slips by.

The pen un-lifted to mark the passage,

The mind numbed by endless days, oh my!


Talking cyphers, confident fools, untrusted.

Display uncaring ignorance, objects of hate.

The narrow minded in widescreen,

In pathetic self pity, consider my fate.


Long day, longer night, alone,

The clock stopped, with too much time.

Physical decline with clouded mind,

With each breath, the universe without rhyme.

Photo on 14-02-2021 at 11.50 #2.jpeg



"I am a 63 year old male, now retired, who spent almost 30 years living in France and worked at the UN."

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