un poquito de poesía

He snores as he types this, lifting his tired eyes for a moment, slowly typing away with his exhausted fingers, forcing open his droopy eyelids.

Okay, my lovelies! Here's a poem for the faithful readers...

Grey skies and gloomy weather today
I'm walking Under a canopy of stone
With nothing but concrete in sight
Among a growing stampede of people
I'm carried forth on this blistery day
by the will of the hundreds who follow
by the stress of what is to come
by the relentless, freezing, cold wind
Rush, rush, rush is all I sense
People with little packaged minds
Who pay no attention to their bearings
Telling themselves "on, make haste, move on"
And all I can think of is the day to come
Pay no heed to that pigeon who flies
or the hungry, shivering men you pass
or the sun or clouds, just keep moving on
Run, run, around people, through red lights
Run to slouch on that empty seat for the day
Run to stare at that blank screen all day
Run to hear the sound of fingers typing away
What have I done to myself, I wonder
Is this the life that I wanted
Trapped in this big city of strangers
I've got only myself to blame.

Bah! Okay, this was very on the spur... I was going to complain about the "bitter bitter cold" in Toronto. Instead, I ended up complaining about work. How does that work? *scratches head in confusion*