Day in and day out, we punch time
Our fists blued, our eyes grimed
By smoke, we beat ourselves brain dead
Where does this end, this life we dread
We step off trains & skip sky dreams
Grinding hours for someone's creme
Sinking deeper to debts & weeds
Where does this end, this life we dread
We mute our voices to nil
Lacking timbre & jars to fill
Carrying hurts, chests rippled red
Where does this end, this life we dread
Posted for dVerse Poets Pub- Complaint, A Poem of Lament. Join us when the pub doors open at 3pm EST. Thanks for your visits and comments.
This is a dreadful view of being a salary slave.... such a sad view of life.
ReplyDeleteThis really makes it mark, surely through the grit the words are coated with, but also because of the truth they carry...this verse stays with me, because of the dreaded reality within it...
ReplyDeleteI enjoyed it and disliked it at the same time. I'd complain as well.
ReplyDeleteA big wow, Grace! What a dismal view of life, and of our choices.
ReplyDelete"Grinding hours for someone's creme" this pierces me like a knife. They live like royalty and we worry about food, clothing, and shelter. Such a vast, polar imbalance.
ReplyDeleteThe lament of the working (wo)man, it captures the daily grind of it all for little reward. I loved your deft use of the form, Grace.
ReplyDeleteOh I remember this...it is soul destroying. Thankfully now I work casually and life is much easier. You write the working week so well in this poem.
ReplyDeleteYour poem reminded me how glad I am to be have retired from paid work and ‘punching time’, Grace.
ReplyDeleteNo wonder Blake called 'em Satanic Mills and the inscription on the gate to Dachau read "Work Sets You Free."
ReplyDeleteGrace, this really hits me. The way you frame the grind, with "Where does this end?" especially, just feels so real. 💥
ReplyDeleteMuch love,
David
SkepticsKaddish.com
Sad but true, Grace... At least I am semi-retired now!
ReplyDeleteIt is a dismal existence, that’s for sure. After years as a wage slave, I’m thankful to be a homebody recluse. A sad refrain, very well-expressed.
ReplyDeleteDescribes the grind perfectly. I like those rhymes! JIM
ReplyDeleteack ... work! always a good subject to complain about!
ReplyDeleteReality
ReplyDeleteGreat poem, Grace!
ReplyDeleteYvette M Calleiro :-)
http://yvettemcalleiro.blogspot.com
It reminds me of why I quit work. Bleak, but I wonder that we lie to ourselves in many cases in order to keep going? Love this.
ReplyDeleteDismal choices remind me of my work days. Love it, Grace!
ReplyDelete