In that dark chasm
The trees slowly died while the water turned black.
Our children lost bits of themselves
And knew nothing but machine.
The ramshackle living of the worker juxtaposes the mansion of Industry.
Coal black rags versus gleaming white marble.
We dragged ourselves out by force.
We gained many scabs and saw the bullets fly,
But we made it out.
Feeling the cool air at the opening,
We took a clean breath.
We sat for a while, letting great men do great things.
Then came the rain.
Now we’re in the middle of a rare, but fierce storm.
Soaking wet and struggling to hold on,
Some of us have forgotten those trees
And those children.
They wish us to take a dive, a plunge.
Back to the chasm.
Where it’s dry.