A Poem by Wynter Ignatius

Most everyone works but those that don't do what we do often can not see how we toil.

Loudest whispers lay claim
They know the toil
They realize the spoils
To every path
They've never walked
Mouths filled with words
False knowledge their power
Knowing your struggle
Without lifting a finger
To ease the grind
Nose unturned and cut off
Spite sprayed with every word
Pointing to empty stomach
As if all answers
Lie there within acidic bath
Caustic judgments levied
Stacked like sandbags
Stuffed with time
You don't have
To please everyone
Gorging on your good graces
Rather than what you gladly give
Bitting more
Than they could chew
Throwing it
In your face
As if you're to blame
Even if they are late
More often than not
For their own labours
Dredging up the past
They never lived
They can never understand
They don't see
Bright as you are
Heart upon rolled sleeves
Focus upon material
When soul is needed
That field often left
Baren but constant prudence
Flinging mud
Rather than honest work
As you dredge on
Reversal of fortune
By the sweat
Of your brow
By your own hands
Molded by will
A daily task
Nearly every waking moment
For your clan
For their life

© 2015 Wynter Ignatius

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Added on May 15, 2015
Last Updated on May 15, 2015


Wynter Ignatius
Wynter Ignatius

La Crosse, WI

Wynter is a chaotic mess that has a particular knack for the written word and getting into people's heads. Trespassing aside, he currently works two jobs, is father to two wonderful kids, and has mult.. more..