Under a clear blue sky
And searing heat the sweat
Dripped off my naked back,
I was consumed with digging a ditch
To the sounds of jackhammers
And whirring machines.

It was Sunday,
Shouldn't I be praying to god
And contemplating life?
Instead I was being cooked
Like a frying egg under
The hot sun.

The rent, power bills,
Food, clothes, internet;
I had bills to pay
And the paintings strewn
In my studio won't feed me.

I lifted the pickaxe to swing
Into the deep brown soil,
And I felt betrayed somehow,
Would I be digging ditches
For the rest of my life?
Was it meant to be like this?
But we all have to carry  
A burden and dig our
Own 'ditches' in a way.

The Forman was standing
There at the edge of the ditch
With furrowed brows
And thick arms crossed
Occasionally glancing
A look at his watch;
It was nearly the end of the day,
Nearly time to finish work.

I thought of frosted cold beers,
A medium steak with mashed potatoes,
The pay-per view boxing match,
And the blonde with the big tits;
They were all waiting for me,
They were my pay-off
For selling my blood and soul.

I felt a little empty and hollow
Like a husk, or a shell,
We all did, but justified
It somehow and consumed
And spent and continued with life;
Under a clear blue sky
And searing heat
With the sweat dripping
Off our collective backs
As we sighed and dug our ditches
And buried our souls.

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With a digital drawing from Nikos Laios

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Don't miss Nikos Laios NEW eBook
The Silent Symphony
A collection of poems and paintings,
you can download for FREE, HERE!

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Also check Nikos Laios' EBOOK
Ida & Her Magic Camera
is online now and you can download for FREE HERE!