do you hear them
muttering
in discontent?

they line the hill
hunched down
on knees and forearms
their bodies
forming steps that lead
up to the house
at the very top.

at first i step
gingerly onto
their bare flesh
my boots digging in
they groan pitifully
i do not deter.

they wail ever louder
bemoaning
their lives
i do not remark
will not make
eye contact as i
step from one
up to another.

who put them here
forced them
into servitude?

i keep my face blank
as my boot
leaves waffle marks
on the pale skin.

but i can’t
help but wonder
of the destination
is worth the trip.

there is a grand house
at the top
of the hill
beset by mutterings
of discontent
made by the staircase
of humans left
in a state of unbeing.