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Poverty, Life, and My Son

How does a man express his dreams?

hopes and aspirations ripping at the seams.

Today we hope for tomorrow

for today is a time we borrow

the words I hear are violently violating

but they are just words

Words lack meaning so I've learned

and with time a promise is a lie

situations and circumstances dictate our lives

and control is as futile as scrating at hives

But we move forward in hopes of following through

and dreaming that tomorrow's forcast is bright and blue

Some of our moments send us into a depression

and we begin with the mental depredation

Raking ourselves over the coals

for being human and banking on our goals

Our goals move us forward and it's where I place my stock

but then I fail, and lie, and i hear a silent mock

from the sidelines of how I failed

but when I thought it, I saw how it sailed

high in the sky and success was a certainty

but failed I did, miserably.

Failure after failure I try to move on

only to stumble and wish today was gone.

Why can't life come with instructions?

Being born into this destruction.

It seems intuitive that someone would know

What this is for and where do we go.

I have a son almost here

and now it's for him I fear.

He is coming into a world of love and being poor

and odd combination and a spirit sore

I am losing my resolve

too many problems to solve

and the end is almost here

and the beginning of life is near

I must stand up and accept this fate

of poverty, and poverty I hate.

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Written by
terry-rucker
American
Published
Aug 21, 2012
Lines·Words
38·280
Permission

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