Poets logo

Fruits of Labor

A Poem for Work

By Matt CatesPublished 5 years ago 1 min read
Like

Your mind was meant for motion and mission,

Not static, “life,” boxed-up in a prison.

Listen—

Efferent neurons are running the system,

Telling your body: “Far out of condition.”

Chained to a desk, you’re locked in submission.

Ask—

“Blood, why flowing with nowhere to run?”

Betas trapped in a bowl with no sun.

Just caffeine and sugar to flip on the switches;

Swapping out life for biohack *glitches*...

Tell—

Yourself, if you’re roots are too deep.

If it’s time to pull free, to wake from your sleep.

Your feet may remember what it’s like to walk free,

But only if the mind of the eye can still...

See—

All the while witches,

With warlocks, casting the spell

Of sugarplum visions disguising a lukewarm Hell.

slam poetry
Like

About the Creator

Matt Cates

Freelance writer and owner of Cates Content and Copywriting; retired Air Force Veteran; former administrative assistant at Oregon State University; author of Haveck: The First Transhuman, the greatest sci-fi novel in the multiverse.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.