Moored At Sea

When the clock strikes six a familiar groan is heard,

Neigh it be the sound of the morning bird. 

The carrier travels in partial light,

Repulsed by the morning bright.

"Of to work with you," they would say,

"Keep them emotions at bay."

For, the feelings of life are bound to oppress and stay.

Harsh reality shines a bright crimson,

As he travels to the familiar prison.

Here, there is no one to care;

He spends seven hours there.

His sentence over,

He returns to his home by the sea;

Burdened with the toils of the bee.

"Don't sit down," they would say,

"There are jobs for you by the quay.”

Four hours and a meal retired,

He returns still burdened and tired.

And after all is said and done,

What has he really become? 

As he prepares for the perpetual rerun.