Precious

I look round and see,

Life’s not precious.

People are murdered, tortured, abandoned,

Every day.

Treated as objects,

Treated as interchangeable parts of the machine

That produces,

Someone else’s wealth.

“I do not need you;

“To do this job“,

“To take care of our children“,

“To look after me when I am old“,

“To hold me when I am in pain.”

“There are replacements waiting on queue,

To take your place.”

“I do not need you;

“I can find someone else“,

“I can make more.”

“You have no more value than a random log,

In a pile of wood.”

“You are replaceable.”

“I don’t need you.”

“You are not of value.”

“You are expendable.”

“Your death is just,

Collateral damage.”

“Your death is justice,

For what you believe.”

Every day people experience these words,

These feelings,

These lies,

These ends,

Because there are so many people.

Because some people believe

In life after death.

You will go without work,

Without companionship,

Without support,

Without sustenance,

Without shelter.

“I don’t care if you disappear because”;

“You can be replaced.”

“When you die

You will reap a greater reward.”

“I will be a martyr.”

 “You do not believe in my

Life after death.”

“You are damned.”

“You are evil incarnate,

A tool of the devil.”

When the cupboard is full

Pull out a new box of crackers,

And if one falls on the floor

Throw it away.

When the cupboard is bare

Pull out the last box of crackers,

And if one falls on the floor

Retrieve it,

Eat it.

Be glad you have food.

As long as humans reproduce

As if the cupboard is bare

And hard to fill,

People will be thrown away

As if they are expendable,

As if life is cheap,

As if life is not precious.