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Poem: Fruits of Labor

We were sold on the idea of labor of the hands
And from the labor of our hands we would rise
That was the myth our parents told us as kids
We now tell it to our kids because the machine
Of production is hungry and it needs more
Than calloused hands it needs broken bodies
It needs broken minds that believe the fables
About working hard and working our way up
When the reality is we are still slaves earning
Meager wages that we pay back to the bosses
Keeping us indentured to them so that we labor
More while nothing changes except our age
Working until we can’t and hoping we saved
Enough scraps to help survive until the grave 
They keep us just comfortable enough to fear
We might go hungry or lose our rented shelter
To keep thoughts of revolution slumbering
In daydreams as long as there is just enough

Copyright © 2021 TJS Sherman All rights reserved.


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