Vitae

Shifting, sifting, lofting, lifting,

Applications. Aspirations.

Dreams, hopes, prayers, for a future

Devoid of this despair.

The time has come, the game is up,

It’s time to get a life. No more

Mere games for this young pup,

Just struggles, grief, and strife.

Falling, failing, aiming, ailing;

The market is too bare.

The young lad’s sorrow

Haunts tomorrow, and no-one

Even cares.

Chin up, they say, the

World is tough, and only

Tough men prosper. We’re

All in the gutter, looking up, like

Poor, deluded Oscar.

Alas, cries he, this cannot be,

The world’s a grisly place.

Filled with the rank skulduggery,

 Writ large upon your face.

With that he strode toward his addressee,

And wordlessly disposed of his CV.

Curriculum vitae, aptly named, for that is what it takes.

The soul sucked out onto the page, to be read

 by a man with a Stonehenge face*, the product of    

a bygone age, in which men were men, and

women slaves, a tyranny, so warped

and twisted, that it ended in a blaze of  rage.