labours
a sonnet for survivors
Published in
1 min readSep 19, 2020
Where are the fruits of our lachrymose labours;
when did they vapourise, boil into vapours?
what were the reasons for mental misfeasance?
why must we throw ourselves onto the sabres?
Why are the clocks like incendiary fuses
marking off minutes mortality loses?
confidence falters as problems assault us,
sat with a notebook of sorry excuses.
Time is the enemy, time is the healer,
life is just blackjack and fate is the dealer,
cash in your tokens or play till you’re broken,
things can get heavy; soltar la mochila.
Always remember when problems encumber-
strength is inside you and age, just a number.
