The Silent Cry Poetry Collection

Beneath the Surface of 9:00am - 5:00pm

I'm withering like a rose,

Just to make your garden grow.

Feeling ill? What a shame,

There life goes down the drain.

Shake it off, on your feet,

We need more of your rewards to reap.

Don't be shy, you carry on,

While we sing our merry song.

My petals are falling to the ground,

And all I can hear are angry sounds.

Nevermind, brush it aside,

There are policies you have to abide.

Feeling weary? Doesn't matter,

Now back to work, pitter patter.

Don't try too hard; it'll all be wrong,

Listen now as we click our tongues.

My thorns are cutting in my skin,

Watch me pour out all my sins.

Doesn't matter, do we care?

We'll just carry on with flare.

Just make sure the job gets done,

After all you're under our thumb.

If you do or if you don't,

We shall still make a note.

You're the underling beneath our floor,

And we'll work you till your head is sore.

That's the way we run things here,

With each step inciting anger and fear.

Don't open your mouth and don't talk back,

We won't listen to the runt at the bottom of the pack.

Because in the end, who are you

To question what we do?