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The pulley wheels are spinning fast,
Leather bands drive strange machines.
Lights flickering, shadows cast,
So it was in my dreams.
Noise deafening as drills bored through,
Metal sheet and iron struts.
Chaos reigned in this motley crew,
As man tightened bolts and nuts.
Soon my senses were in a whirl,
I could not take the pace.
Beads of sweat from my face do purl
In the madness of the human race.
Twelve hours long no rest for me,
The machine the master of my fate.
No way out that I could see,
My soul began to fill with hate.
I was a member of a working force,
Prefabricated parts left the machines.
Little pay a matter of course,
This is what filled my dreams
Assembly lines teams of workers,
Rushing feet; hands so adept.
Here no place for shirkers,
For there is a fixed target to get.
The siren blows end of shift,
Tools change hands others take our place,
My spirit takes on a new lift,
As a smile gathers on my face.
Bernard Shaw
| Submitted Date |
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Tuesday, October 28, 2003 |
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Read poems about / on: hate, fate, change, smile, dream, work
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