The Bureaucrat

Her office is tiny, just as her heart
This location of her seat of power
The decor is cold, not tidy, not smart
Where supplicants endure for the hour
Pompous assistants at work in their tasks
Angry at anyone stuck in the way
Lacking desire to show grace when asked
This pretension is nothing new today
Yet beneath this facade lies one unloved
Incompetence craves fearful devotion
Insecure in a job never dreamed of
Bitterness builds like waves in the ocean

So behind this fearful mask of the queen
Is a lonely heart longing to be seen

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Filed under Despair, Melancholoy Sonnets

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