the peddlers
one stall will stall
once bought, it is yours,
one coin for a coin
once spent, they owe you.

one hour is ours
after we toil for eight;
one bunch is ours,
just enough for one plate.

we sell our time,
we sell our skills,
peddlers of the modern times
slaves of the modern world.

we run out of time,
we learn new skills,
we beat the system,
just to make another one

we only are worth our truths
we raise the tree for its fruits
our truth's value lie
with the lie we buy

once coined,
you're the coin
be it spent or not,
they own you.

© poufpoetry