Friday, March 27, 2015
A worker is parading his wars,
Effort has been dissolved into juice,
As the love of a century has worn thin,
A worker is about with business.
A worker designs a task of majesty,
His paper is wearing ink and pink stains
Undergoing inspection, a dereliction
Is about called paper.
One works headlong into the script,
Writers or workers deceive the populace
With scripture as the might of a day is
Upon the earth that sizzles under the sun.
My effort is an affront to the human race,
Opening wars to the forefront of imagination.
One dreams a six-day week of work
And the imagination has run thin,
Working the grim news of a tomorrow in sin.
Topic(s) of this poem: free verse,work