A Poem (an Epic for the People Who Are Stuck)

Long hours, long hopeless hours.

Hours wasted, perhaps; spent, definitely.

Hours lost to the letters, hours spoiled for

The sake of a few grand words.

Long hours are gone.

They were not here at all though, so it seemed.

They came and passed, without being given

A second look.

A simple glance to reassure us that we were doing

That which we ought to.

We did not have time to look though, or so it seemed.

We have wasted our time. Our long hours. 

(Written October 2015)