Shackled In Modemity Poem by Saint Eule

Here I lay naked in my humanity,
My words reveal me a believer.
They stare upon me as if insane,
The popular opinion mass deceiver.

The herd runs over me like a stampede,
They will not let me rest in the place.
The place that is holy to take refuge,
Demanding I refute the law of grace.

With their might they beat upon me,
I feel the humility but will not refrain.
My Hope is with a little seed of faith,
They tear upon my wounds and drain.

The tormentors shackle me to the mill,
Forcing me to grind the grain of wheat.
Circling timber upon the stone crushing,
The millet to bread i will not get to eat.

My cell impounds me in the darkness,
Only a few more hours till a new day.
A bowl mush supplemented by insects.
Then beaten and shackled to grind away.

May the terminal explode it drains my wits,
On the keyboard I type yet to run the mill.
Programming the computer the bytes and bits.
Time is money shackled and impounded still.

A slave to the company, no time to pray.
Only a few more hours to begin a new day.