Memoirs of a Project Manager

Darkness recoils; bids the night die
Most life is still sleeping, but no – not I
Driven to trudge forth in the winter of cold
No pride, no glory of the like I was told

Through the wet grass, down a dark stairwell
S’where I wait for a train I hoped would take me to hell.
Waiting for 500 tons of cold, miserable stell
I think of when the devil did me this deal

All aboard; but its just me,
Alone, except for my MP3.
First stop liverpool, then 12 more;
Is this really what I studied for?

Everything’s straight and nothing is curled;
Commercialized life in a concrete world.
A ray of sunshine in a cloud filled day
As I see a leaf of green growing under the grey.

But then stepped on, trampled and thus no more;
Seems thats what people are best for.
On a plastic planet, the only green
Is in an Automatic Teller Machine.

Next stop central and back to reality,
Soon to be back to my desk and to clarity
Pick up my pace or I’m late for work,
Where trust is in dollars and faith is in perks.

As ants, we hurry to our office above;
Our Tower of Babel, we worship and love.
He gives us our living – that I concede,
But serving this lord – I’d rather not be.

The road not taken, I’ll choose instead,
Make do with my Day and my Daily Bread.
Give me less in my belly and less on my head,
But the sky will be blue, and blood will be red.

Here is the enigma; the puzzle, you see,
They’ve always been there, and always been free.
But living always inside a white collar,
You can’t see anything – only the dollar.

 

I wrote this poem on my way back from work around January 2011. I was on the train coming back from North Sydney heading home to Casula and, nearing the end of my internship, was feeling quite burned out by the routine of getting up early, travelling an hour and a half to the office, sitting down for 7.5 hours just waiting for my paycheck. It uses a lot of metaphors and symbolism and obviously exaggerates the experience quite a lot, but I thought it turned out to be quite good.