May i ask to you how this poem i wrote is?

G

Gage

New member
If I wished to live a modest life [or] I wish to live a modest life
Work to reap with plow and scythe
But in this new world of newer remorse [or] But of this world in newer discourse
Work is work, I rehearsed, of course

This work will gnaw your bones to dust
Make the metal of your tools turn to rust
Make the bitter cold touching as thorns
Make the livid stress much keen as horns

I, weary of this shorthanded guidance
Short in time of being born to defiance
Defy them never of this redundant task
More difficult than the frown I now certainly mask

We work with so little, to produce such
Too little we are given, the weight too much
Without voices we roam, from dusk to dust
The scythe forgotten, now left in rust

Now I remain, with salary thrown aside
I ask is this, this life I so wish to confide
No! The thought is plentiful, yet I hear no yell
No yell, yet all of we are being given hell.

This I wish us now to rebel!
This! The ill-content we build and well!
Inside we remain, confused, with no hate satisfied.
That simple life must wait, I now have in something to confide.
 
Back
Top