A Book of Poems Vol.1

The Factory

Day and Night,
You work
Hands sore,
From the harsh labor
Arms weak,
From holding them up
Legs shaking,
From standing them still
Eyes heavy,
From keeping them open

Sleep,
A thing of the past
Comfort,
Now far away
Laughter,
A lost pleasure
Joy,
That which you have forgotten
Work,
All you know

As the machine moves,
You move with it
As if you, yourself
Were a cog
But this cog is rusty
Old
Broken
And tired

The time is soon
For the rusty
Old
Broken
And tired cog
To be replaced

They will not miss you,
Your memory lost
They will not mourn you,
Your work discarded
They will not pray for you
Your soul taken

The skin peals from your fingers
leaving only bone
Your sore hands
Finally break
Your weak arms
Fall to your sides
Your shaking legs
Topple like a broken tower
The light begins to fade
And at last,
Your heavy eyes fall shut

It was here, you lived
It was here, you were
It was here, you labored
And it was here
Right here
It was here
You died