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Mark Sebring

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Spring Fever (Waiting For The Bell To Ring)
by Mark Sebring → (All Poetry by Mark Sebring)
Tuesday, October 9, 2018    Rated "G" by the Author.
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How do I begin?
I get up every morning,
go to work and come back home.
That's all there is,
and it doesn't matter.
 
Let me start again.
I lay down every evening,
close my eyes and go to sleep.
I have my dreams,
but they're always shattered.
 
At six o'clock the radio plays.
Head for the bathroom in a daze.
Put my clothes on. Gotta rush.
I run to catch the downtown bus.
I stare out the window.
 
Working for the company
fills me with anxiety.
Every hour that I stay
sixty minutes fly away.
And where does the time go?
 
 
What shall I do now?
I'm hiding deep within me
all the things I really feel.
I've shared my dreams,
but very seldom.
 
Let me take a bow.
I laugh and act so crazy
but my mind is somewhere else.
I live my life
in constant boredom.
 
Friends I see most every day
wish they had something new to say.
I just keep on smiling though.
It isn't really me they know.
It's just my shadow.
 
How long can a man go on
knowing that he's just a pawn
In a game that he can't see?
There must be more to life for me.
 
 
I want to hear the birds sing.
I want to feel the grass grow.
Please let the bell ring.
 
 
Mark Sebring (Early 1980s)
 

"So I hated life, because the work that is done under the sun was grievous to me. All of it is meaningless, a chasing after the wind. I hated all the things I had toiled for under the sun, because I must leave them to the one who comes after me. And who knows whether he will be a wise man or a fool? Yet he will have control over all the work into which I have poured my effort and skill under the sun. This too is meaningless. So my heart began to despair over my toilsome labor under the sun. For a man may do his work with wisdom, knowledge, and skill, and then he must leave all he owns to someone who has not worked for it. This too is meaningless and a great misfortune. What does a man get for all the toil and anxious striving with which he labors under the sun? All his days his work is pain and grief, even at night his mind does not rest. This too is meaningless." - Ecclesiastes 2:17-23




 


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