Tag Archives: wage slaves


We are the dreamless ones

Swept up and carried along in a tide of chaotic compulsion

We see the world through haunted and bitter eyes

Angry at the conspiracy of events that led to this impasse

Of a stunted life

Living tedious days of underpaid drudgery

Wasting evenings watching competitive human tricks

While getting mildly sloshed before a too short sleep

Then doing it all over again

Chained to jobs and places we used to despise

But now tolerate with indifference

Damned to be stuck in our self-selected prisons

Crushed by debt and toxic relationships

We have no dreams left to strive for

We are barren ground for motivational speakers

Who talk about planning your life’s arc and goal setting

Our goal is just to wake up tomorrow and survive till night

Anaesthetized against the emptiness



David Trudel   © 2013




Filed under Poetry


I would rather write lyric verses in praise of beauty

Describing the wonders of forest glades or sunsets

But I can’t

I’d prefer to get lost in love and play with cosmic metaphors

But I’m not

I’d like to write erotica about inclined curves and heated passions

Or find the meaning of life in a raindrop

But I can’t

I’m blocked by blockhead politics and hate

Intrusions of evil that turn gardens into killing fields

That never go fallow with rest and disuse

And the only renewable that gets attention is fear

So I won’t praise beauty today

Or dally in love’s embrace

Instead I mourn the clearcut memories of paradise

Celebrate the blackened lungs of wageslave toilers

Bemoan the fate of children locked in foul factories

Feeding a frenzy for the cheapest disposables

Wail my ululations for the funerals of slaughtered innocents

So while I’d rather write lyric verses

Today I can’t

Today I weep

And curse the evil that has blackened the once clear sky

Perverted by profit and plunder and imagined power

I mourn the battered face and broken bones of Mother Nature

Beaten down by man’s dominion

So today the only song I sing is a dirge

At this ubiquitous funeral

That never seems to end


David Trudel    © 2013




Filed under Poetry

Middle Class Slaves

Shut down faces in locked up cars

Grim visaged sufferers

Moving from one hell

To another

Tensely gripping wheels

Locked, loaded


Staring ahead at lonely roads

Going nowhere

Stop and go traffic

Moving like a tide

Armies of the self-shackled

Working overtime

Willing slaves salved by soporific


Dumbed down slumber inducing excuses for not thinking

So bring on the next


The next sleight of hand trick

To fall for

As long as it maintains the stasis of inaction



David Trudel  © 2012

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Filed under Poetry