Tired arms tear away the earth.
Muscles found in an unimportant mine,
muscles that were working for money,
now for their lives,
on a field that will change the world.
Such a simple thing is money -,
Although it was the world,
Now we realise that we have lives;
we consider our families.
We see things better when they are not there.
The orange slip came back.
A simple piece of paper,
no more than paper with ink on,
but the shapes that the ink made,
signalled the end of everything.
Every night we rolled the dice,
and got our lucky number.
We woke in morning seeing the devastation
of those who were not so lucky.
Then waited to roll the dice again.
Out of fear I replaced my father,
to save my family
but more myself, from the white feathers.
It was going to be an adventure, a holiday,
But holidays in hell are not fun.
Every day saw the death of thousands.
It was hard seeing so many leave,
but worse were the cries of mourning,
crying for loss, for hatred,
hatred at the unfair world.
And the world is unfair,
the way the workers starve
and the languid gorge themselves.
But it is the one we live in.
So we all work hard to save it.
But I can’t help asking myself,
‘Is it really worth it?’