For The Labourers Poem by Otega A

Ere he wrote beneath the rays of the dying sun,
Seated alone on the windward way with bouts of heavy breaths,
His tears were as endless streaming of blood
And his back was bent from labouring all over again through his tiring sweats.

Thus he wrote,
Basking in the ambiance of such sickening pains
Known to no other but to the much steaming thoughts in his head;

"It's all but a simple world,
Clothed in hardened skin
With claws and teeth to bear.

It tears the skin from them;
Gnawing their flesh again and again,
And laughing heartily when their bone is bare beneath the blaring sun.

But legendary calls their names;
And for such they bend over backwards again and again
To make the sacrifice they must to defeat the devil of many men.

So great poets of old, I pray thee.
Make a lullaby to lure the newness of another morning into them that labour.
Let the wind of new hope caress them;
And breast them to grow greener day after day
That they lay their hearts bare without worries;
Faith and hope to grow.