Disclaimer: This poem is a work of literary interpretation and art. It is not about anyone or anything. It is only the musings of a 41 year old lifelong worker.

Work.

They grind us to the bone.

Work. Work.

Draining us of everything we have to give

Work. Work. Work.

On our vacations they tell us to…..

Work. Work. Work. Work.

They make thousands off our thoughts and ideas while we make pennies…

Work! Work! Work! Work! Work!

They demand our attention while our sons are contemplating suicide.

Work.

They take away our holidays and time with our faimilies.

Work. Work.

They treat us like scum while they know they are among the one

Work. Work. Work.

When we are sick, they tell us to take a nap… and get back to ….

WORK.

They claim ownership of our blood our sweat and our tears while demanding we

Work.

All the while, sitting on their thrones and entitlement.

We work.

Then we die.

And have nothing to show for it.