Today I stood in my old office,
Shelves stacked with files and folders.
As I wiped down the desk
And emptied the drawers,
My mind drew a blank
On the contents of all these data holders.
Four years, they represent,
Of toil and thoughts in equal measure.
Half happy, half bad,
And ninety percent kept strictly to myself.
This career is one, I thought,
That lends itself to introspection.
However we bluff and bully,
Only in our minds is the truth known.
Four years of data gathered,
The same of literature read.
So full of potential,
Yet so full of trash.
On my shelves,
My future: filed.