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Lower levels

As we crowd the lower levels
Shoulder to shoulder with the livestock
The pungent smell of four-legged and two-legged meat
stuffed together in the hold of the ship
While the gods of wealth haunt the mizzenmast
The mythical 'top deck' that none of us have ever glimpsed
besides the servants
Our concience rots
Our morals erode
Darkness becomes a way of life
The animals infect us
Socially and literally
We forget what it is to bathe
Or share
We tribe
We fracture
We fight
And way up top, they calmly steer the ship
to the edge of the world

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