Dear poet
Lucky you are to not be in the drudgery of a mishmash
Of forlorn songs that is IT's debauchery
Maybe I should let myself loose
Into the twirls of madness
Stare the medusa of apathy in the eye
Am sure she will be set in stone
The absurd rigidity of set paroxysm
Shall at best be my undoing
I could curse my toils
Yet they are from the depths of my heart
I could be wayward, aloof
But that would make me them
I have rowed and rowed
Furthered my self from such indulgence
For I have seen me love
For my soul seeks to aid
Amidst all the turmoils and tantrums
Of project managers and clients
I seek only compliance
Above all, even if only in audits
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