When it’s daylight
The factory comes alive
Sweaty palms
in toil’s arms
Prosaic is the stare
glued to the ware
As if the garment
was the answer to torment
The climb uphill
is the little bills
She stitches her dreads
with needles and threads
Dare to dream
if hope was a stream
When she goes to bed
after the children are fed
Published by montecyril
Hi, I am Monte Cyril Rodrigues and live in Melbourne, Australia. I am a retired journalist. I have been diagnosed with schizophrenia. I've had voices and visions all my life. I think it is a spiritual experience, my doctors think otherwise. I am a deeply spiritual person and keep having experiences with otherworldly realms.
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Nice
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