O. + R.

Trapped like a lion in a cage,
with bars all around.
Freedom I thought I had lost,
yet was it ever found?
So many obligations,
so many responsibilities.
Wishing I was a child,
instead of the adult I've grown to be.
O' to be so young again,
escaping the duties I am now bound.
Innocence seeping and oozing
through my soul without a sound.
Stuck in a rut,
like a feather in glue.
Sometimes I think,
that I wish I never grew.
I have no regrets
of my life of old.
I only wish as a child
I would have been told.
Enjoy life, hour by hour,
day by day.
So when you are old
you'll know how to live life that way.
You'll know that you can speak your mind,
to a certain extent.
Make Money, or at least,
keep what the government hasn't spent.
Freedom will cost you now,
unlike it did before.
Before you could play,
now it's work, work, work, for evermore.
Obligations and Responsibilities,
taking up your heart and soul.
Overflowing, overlapping,
sometimes the weight takes its toll.
I need a break from reality,
or at least what it is to me.
Shut my brain off,
so I can function properly.
Sometimes I feel
I'm losing my battle with sanity.
Walking a fine line
between pity and vanity.
So many things to do,
so many people to please.
Not enough money,
to many fees.
No time in my day
to do what must be done.
No time at night
to spend some time in the sun.
Most of the time,
it's not so bad.
I love my life,
I'm not always sad.
But there are times,
I feel so alone.
I have no space
to call my own.
My actions are governed
by so many things.
To cut myself off,
would sever the joy they bring.
I want the Obligations
I have grown.
I love the Responsibilities
I have sewn.
But sometimes, just sometimes,
I need some room.
Some time to get away from
feeling like there's an impending doom.
I need to be just
me, myself, and I.
No worries or woes,
asking what if and why?
Just some time
to sit back and reflect.
Give myself some
much desired respect.
I suppose that's why
I sit here and write.
Staying awake and alone
so late at night.
It's my only time
to let my thoughts go wild.
My only time to argue
with my inner child.
As I look back over this
poem I have wrote,
I sound so depressed,
maybe I should take a vote?
Keep it?
Or toss it out the door?
Throw it in a bottle
on some distant shore?
My life isn't bad,
sorry to give that impression.
Writing alone is like
a group therapy session.
So I end this thing
with a happy tone.
I've sat here venting
with some time alone.
My thoughts aren't
always this crazy.
Sometimes they run ramped,
other times they're just lazy.
My writing has given
me some quiet time alone.
Now I'll end this thing
and go sleep like a stone
So goodnight,
sleep tight.
Don't let my thoughts...
keep you up at night.

Copyright ?2001 Timber McCall