Pressure

In dreary cubes of faded steel
And sullen stone, on leveled fields
Formerly green, now washed away
Where cattle gather everyday
Strinding on reluctantly
Through hardship, pain and malady
Push forward, lacking energy
To barely live comfortably
The stairs march high yet never soar
A higher state, not for the soul
To reach new heights yet, never tell
No glass to mar this daily cell
It stands, oppressive, above all
Casts shadows, long, and reaching far
It towers high above the sea
Of greyish thoughts and blackened dreams
Reaching deep to carry on
In spite of this anthemic song
Of grieved and dark, sorrowful wails
Heard far and wide across the plains
The stairs march high yet never soar
A higher state, not for the soul
To reach new heights yet, never tell
No glass to mar this daily cell
Depressed and drained, it takes its toll
No rest, no loose nor space at all
It digs and claws within with ease
A viral, serpent-like disease
Its poison seeps into the pores
Pervading deep through countless sores
It coils and slithers and constricts
Yet no bite mark it needs inflict
We have fallen, fallen under pressure