The Remote — New Poems

Imagine the full weight of my effort—
 poured into people, places, and things,
 only to be met by the cold calculations of those
 who watch with an evil eye,
 measuring my struggle like a formula to be undone.
 Exposed.
 Not by failure, but by the world’s quiet hatred,
 greeting me at the gates of remote control work,
 where change in others is not their own
 but dictated by the enemy of my choices.
 And so, the cycle turns.
 Careless hands manipulate the equation,
 turning my energy into echoes of wasted effort,
 while I push forward, weary, on edge,
 climbing toward the inevitable phrase:
 “There is light after every tunnel.”
 But tell me—who built the tunnel? And why?

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