Grind

Down.I go back on the hated mill.

Dark,a tread mill to nowhere

Back on that dirt track

I’m running round like a mouse

Too numb to stop too dizzy , where to go?
Down empty sterile tracks
The lane to misery
A days work pride or sweat
Bitter sweet its taste
Tears or sweat i know not
In my heart i write
3000 books published every month
Flowers lost in blooms
In empty gardens
Too long on the train