Who will cry when I go from here?

I wonder

Those who steal the earth right from under me?

Those who plunder?

Those who collate, calculate, study and measure?

Those in golden cloud castles that rain down heady dreams of pleasure?

Those who live for today in case there’s no tomorrow?

Those with hope to spare?

Those who barter and borrow?

Those who fall asleep world-weary and wake gasping for air?

Those who wander the afterlife, uncertain why they’re there?

Who will dig all these graves?

I wonder

We who discuss, examine and ponder?

We who end the road in a muffled wet clay shout?

We who do what we must to survive

To get out?

We who refuse the burden:

“It’s their job, not mine”?

We who forget we might be next in line?

We who think grand thoughts while our plans go awry?

We who choke on our silence

And splutter

And die?

I see it coming on light-streaked wheels of thunder

Who will cry when I go from here?

Will you?

I wonder.


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