Trapped in the Mundane

7:30 the alarm clock screams in my head .

Ten hours of meetings then chores and right back to bed.

I see the mahogany gleam deep in the dark. A silent promise

that missed its mark. The lacquer is bright. The head start

stands tall. It shines like a statue. An incessant call. Is a six-string

lament the unfinished sound? The reward that I long for but have not

yet found? The hours keep turnin'. The calendar spins. I'm trapped in

the mundane and the music never begins. I finally crash when the midnight