The ghosts of mill towns past awake
and seek us in our sleep;
they tell us work will make you whole,
and prayer make you deep
I hear them, shouting, from the docks,
I see them now, in waves;
I see them slumping off to work
And to their waiting graves
For this is how we spend our lives,
our toil, thought, and breath;
to make the jeans that people wear
to work themselves
to death
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Tagged: Tags Autobiography Poetry
Published by Beleaguered Servant
Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.
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