The Wages – Poem

Quite simply based upon the Bible verse “The wages of sin is death” I may reply to it with a poem titled The Gift, so as to cover the second part of that verse.

Please do let me know what you think of it in the comments.

The Wages
Living only to the factory’s call
(The drone that sinks to thoughtless subconscious
Becomes the harbour for poor and noble)
His hands tell what his words never confess:
Deeds doing and done
All marred each last one.
It is a curse on him, but I must stress
All have struck the metal and punched the card
Taken up fitted tools and found it hard.

Here, the street marched is wide, but with the night
Of one thousand years Destitution counts
Hearts as the sand, his meaning steeped in spite
Against a distant path which alone mounts
Resistance for truth.
Outward seen uncouth
The rocks cut the feet, but the pained point out
To the Light in the night, and at the end
Of the walk they have an eternal friend.


3 thoughts on “The Wages – Poem

  1. I love the rhythm. It feels like the never-ending hum of a machine. The sense that sin is a job we are bound too out of habit rather than desire a day by day punching of the clock is a powerful metaphor.
    I am glad to have an eternal friend who has rescued me out of the “mind numbing job of sin.”

    Liked by 1 person

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