Will my voice be heard

Exhausted by the relentless, droning and grinding of industrial machines they lie
limply in the stomach, heavy, sagging, speechless.
Suspended in a fine web of rationalistic jargon they struggle,
wriggling, squirming within the cavity of the lung.
Amid the ink filled veins they endlessly compete for space with bulky platitudes, mission statements and withering traditional reason.
Bound by the parameters of productivity guidelines they block the bowels endless tubes, constipated by deadlines and long hours.
Slowly they rise and, with gritty determination, squeeze their way along the adrenaline squashed alongside hefty, rhetorical, motherhood statements.
Willfully they gather in the homelands of the heart forming a wheel, squeezing and pressing
until the throbbing exhausts the reason briefly freeing the passageways from rhetorical motherhood statements.
Triumphant, fresh perspective bursts forth like semen
Only to shrink and shrivel in the great cosmic void.
My internal voice must be heard, but,
Will these feisty words have the stamina and will to endure the futile battle with such weighty external forces?
Will it be heard tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow?