The
grey are borers
Who
suck the life remnant
Of
the youngst and watch
Them
clash cycles on the highways
And
gaze at them in long woods
Laid
upon shoulders to where they
Are
matched beyond with only
One
possession of the world.
The
gray who sit on sacks
Trampling
the world on three legs
Who
match with our hands
Entwined
into their rusky bony
Sides
of no earthly flesh
Who
lie on strong beds awaiting
Our
most pampering care
That
sucks many a number to depression.
Why
dosth thou the gray not bow to earth
If
you have not paid death
Your
good friend with our lives.
When
you have feasted him
On
the dinning table
To
dwell gain in hundred folds
And
the youngst in twenties.
When death who hath
All
year long lurked in woods
Disembodied
ever full of flesh
When you with no heart on
Would
still boldly take mine
And
leave ‘agots upon
A
feast upon the body after which
They
still partake of its glory.
Death
why dosth thou kill the youngst?
If
you have not accepted the token
From
our gray who dined you
On
our toils and fed you on our
Flesh
and bath you in our blood
And
lay you upon our hearts of
Tremendous
facilitation.
Which
our very lives dwell on.
You
hath seen the youngst in toil
Where
they suffer to gain a living
You
had not for once helped out
When
even on sick beds still
They
moil to survive a day.
Through
the four walls of education
You
had with your bold eyes seen
But
had given no helping hand.
Then
why do thou
Take
them away when they triumph
when
with their gowns overflowing
with
a cap hanging above their head
and
in rows, snapshots of joy
when
they had worked files in hand
and
settled in offices
you
became a visitor on barefoot.
You
laid traps on highways
waiting
them to fall prey
for
the next feasting in the woods
where
he shall stiff lie
in
woods and be trodden upon.
all on deep
cries and wails
and
wives on whites
and
husbands on whites.
And death so kind that
The
young have grown so old
And
the old grown so young
That
I myself don’t know where I lie
Whether
I grow so old or young
Sure
I still pay the debt
Cause
even the gray die
And
death takes back hand.
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