Slow rise

The sun rises slow

And weak

In the cold mornings of walking solo.

My desk awaits me,

My family demands a warm hand,

My time is split

With sorrow and pride.

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Meeting etiquette

Your opinion is loud in your head
And will not rest
until it is shouted to those bosses.
The setting is absorbing the sounds
And the meeting proceeds
with no hype.
All are listening and pretending,
A few decide
On the apparent democracy.
Raising your voice is not welcome
And hiding your knowledge
behind a subtle question
might be your only expression.