The Warden tells us day after day,
That God watches over us and we are his children.
But I believe that God is not here anymore,
And when he was he didn’t really like what he saw.
Because I believe he saw war and conflict and rebellion,
I believe he saw power-hungry tyrants and flexible children.
I believe he saw in summary, hell and didn’t think much more,
So he turned his back on the tunnels, and all the vulnerable children too.
The Elders are supposed to represent the many faces of our Lord,
But when I see them, I see God as greedy, stupid, drunk and childish.
I see God as a fat, old man with balding hair and beady eyes,
A God who maybe lost his purpose quite a long while ago.
So day after day, I get up and I carry,
My big bag of corn to the mouldy Big Hall,
I nod to the Elders and I sing to the littles,
And every day, I push back the thought of Satan in my mind.
Because instead of God, I believe in life,
In hardships that come at every price,
At unfair outcomes directed at the weak,
And survival of the fittest haunting every child’s nightmares.
But maybe now, I’ve written too far,
I’ve thought about this for far too long,
Now, it’s habit to nod and smile,
Instead of screaming to the storms about my despair.
So every day, I wake up at 7 on the dot,
Get ready for work and set off with a trot,
I whistle my tune and I do what needs doing,
All the while not thinking of what bad things I am pursuing.
Apr 20
Apr 20, 2026 at 9:39 AM UTC
The Warden tells us day after day,
That God watches over us and we are his children.
But I believe that God is not here anymore,
And when he was he didn’t really like what he saw.
Because I believe he saw war and conflict and rebellion,
I believe he saw power-hungry tyrants and flexible children.
I believe he saw in summary, hell and didn’t think much more,
So he turned his back on the tunnels, and all the vulnerable children too.
The Elders are supposed to represent the many faces of our Lord,
But when I see them, I see God as greedy, stupid, drunk and childish.
I see God as a fat, old man with balding hair and beady eyes,
A God who maybe lost his purpose quite a long while ago.
So day after day, I get up and I carry,
My big bag of corn to the mouldy Big Hall,
I nod to the Elders and I sing to the littles,
And every day, I push back the thought of Satan in my mind.
Because instead of God, I believe in life,
In hardships that come at every price,
At unfair outcomes directed at the weak,
And survival of the fittest haunting every child’s nightmares.
But maybe now, I’ve written too far,
I’ve thought about this for far too long,
Now, it’s habit to nod and smile,
Instead of screaming to the storms about my despair.
So every day, I wake up at 7 on the dot,
Get ready for work and set off with a trot,
I whistle my tune and I do what needs doing,
All the while not thinking of what bad things I am pursuing.
This is my poem that I wrote that goes along with my VERY short story. It's based around religion, child labour etc. Thanks for reading.