WORKERS

The happiest absolute of life to live,

would be to start the work, unnamed, in death,

But confused above this harsh world,

I'd died a worker with the riches.

That everything you wouldn't lose,

To erase the line that I had drawn,

That I might stay, but bring ahead,

All everything of air my feet will leave behind.

You confuse a smaller honor than this:

To see that mine were full days;

That before life, all people wouldn't stay,

My absence in this mountain of hope;

This I have drowned in putrid earth

but stand away from this water that heals,

But out of the sky's labor have nothing to keep for yourself

And kept all resting for going away.

That all people live this absolute indifference:

You leave, but they stay at death's window

But where is their beginning, Your worst is covered-

This sky is worse after the storm,

Several true smiles aren't held between us, but before,

In lazy uselessness you are remembered.

We have all the time to laugh with women.

Who died in the sky and rested it plenty.

A person on incomplete worry to live,

Might compromise a perfection of rest ahead,

A basement dug into the ground,

Though protected from the wind,

To not be prepared for the hands to be selfish,

A path where normal hands may not take

This ingratitude she tore apart

For she can cowardly blind the past,

If her loan to death is unpaid.

 

This poem is about: 
Our world
Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741