Data Analyst

Poems About Work
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Life Poem


No direction.
An insect at a desk.
Knowing better,
but settling for much less.
Scared to death
of breaking the silence.
If this is life
then tell me,
is it so –

I’m a victim,
just a glitch
in the system.
My last attempt
to find vision
is by crying for help
through the vents
of this prison:

“This isn’t life, it’s existence!”
But no one listens.

If a data analyst falls in the office,
does he make a sound?
I have my doubts.
I’ll be carried neatly away
and replaced the next day,
by someone more willing
to play by the game.
They’ll say that I’m missed,
I’ll stay on their list,
but they won’t remember
my name.
In a matter of days I’ll have ceased to exist
it’s –
a shame.



photograph by Startup Stock Photos


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Lucas Howard

When I was seven I started copying poems out of a book and telling people they were mine. When I ran out of good ones to copy, I had to start writing my own. I have been performing and organising nights on the UK spoken word scene now for over seven years and am most of the way through writing the first draft of my first novel 'Zedlist', which is serialised on here. As the story is in fetal form, any critiques or suggestions are most welcome.

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1 Response

  1. Mitroffsky says:

    Lol. Amazing, dude! Basically, I don’t read poetry (only write), but this one was really good! Keep writing!

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