Mr Listless

He led a very dreary life indeed.
A clockwork body which he did not need,
the dreamless sleep and monotonous wake,
and all that clouded his vision opaque.
Free from the dark clutches of the wearied.

He worked with countless other souls harried,
pondering Hell soon after being buried,
a busied crazed world, more than he could take.
They called him a Mr Listless.

And though he was employed, others envied.
His sad white-collared plight should be pitied,
for he’s an urban poor struggling to make
ends meet even as his soul and joints ache.
An infinite obtuse march to proceed.
They called him a Mr Listless.



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