They Reap What We Sow

We are the nameless,
Faceless,
Slaves to the machine.
Living the American nightmare,
That replaced the American dream.
We’re numbers on paper,
Rarely heard, rarely seen.
Precious years of our lives
Lost in desperate routine.

Some carry the boxes.
Some stare at the screen.
Some pick the fruit
And some wash it clean.
Yet others grow fat,
Those who run this machine.
They feast in their towers,
While the peasants grow lean.

“Well, maybe work harder!”
The elite loudly scream.
As they scoff at the have nots,
With little esteem.
“Let’s promise them more,
It’s all part of our scheme.
We’ll reap what they sow,
More profit per diem!”

So they throw us the scraps
Of the kings and the queens.
Getting drunk off our sweat,
Hoarding wealth most obscene.
How long will this last?
It depends on the means,
Of the nameless,
The faceless…

The slaves of the machine.

8/3/2023