The Human Harvesting Machine
It rips it claws it tears
The human harvesting machine It rips it claws it tears It reaps Our softened flesh Humans planted in rows Breathing black smoke Calling it Air Waiting to be tagged, bagged, and blessed The curved blades smile Only I flinch But my feet too Are planted
Definitely there is hope. Always.
With this poem I wanted the feeling of despair and hopelessness. Because at times I do feel that too.
Humans planted in rows waiting for the relentless harvester, the curve on each blade a sadistic smile as it rips through human flesh.
But humans are not plants. We have feet, hands, and brains. We can dig our way out of the soil and run away.
Maybe it’s a problem to solve, and then you spread the word to others so they can free themselves too.
Hope exists even in the darkest of situations.