DUST COLLECTED WORKING MAN
Dark was the sweat
as we patted our clothes
a boss he said
get rid of the dust
we dont need you stealing coal
cough out those lungs
again swallowed with greed
this boss man,needs to feed
Whiskey slick dribbles and clogs
voices remember the creaking of timber logs
some remain to guard the grain
amongst greatΒ rivers and seams
crawling in where the devil wont show
credit the word
or lose the show
black slate graveyards
covered in the coldest snow
footprints lead from this rest
back to a shift
ready for the dead
soft skin has hardened the heart
as loyalty to kin
triumphs as it departs
closed the echo
no more all clear
just a pile of dust
DUST
but the wind remembers
as it carries them across
this land yet to count the cost
sit in silent song
write the concrete dam
with blackest ink
i was the working man
Β
Support CosmoFunnel.com
You can help support the upkeep of CosmoFunnel.com via PayPal.
Comments
I thoroughly enjoyed the read