The pauper’s bread is his philosophy
The affluent’s philosophy is bread
Though the pauper hasn’t a bread too many
His dog is always well fed!*

The joy of sharing he knows best
His bread he cuts into two
The pauper the vermin the nagging pest
At heart is the most well-to-do!

He knows the joy of togetherness
To divide from his scrap of bread
The pauper a slur on the human race
Sees his dog doesn’t remain unfed!

He knows he can’t do without this help
He is too alone on this ride
The pauper knows better than to live with self
Loves his dog on his side!

Pauper Dream

Had I been born with the powers to change the sky
I would have laced them with more colors of light
Should you find it dark during the night,
The dim moon and stars
Should glow brighter, a penchant, when you pass by
Alas, I was born a pauper, driven only by dreams
All I have are words,
Words written from a dull pencil
Writing on fragile pieces of paper made from hopes
Even if I wrote the whole world, writing the words
Gold... Love... Hope... Beauty... Dirt... and Stone...
Nothing is changed... All I am is a pauper
Only a simple pauper with this silly dream

when words spill like tears onto a page,
ink stains run and ruin the exchange,
of well, expression and emotion,
instead it is all awash in the ocean,

too much,
held inside,
for too long,
that when
it starts to
break out,
after breaking
the heart,

there is a broken heart to heal,
there are no kings horses or kings men,
for the pauper is not worthy of,
to have repair of the heart,
that was halved and halved,
then diced roughly,
and scattered on the dusty
wind
         ... wind that wails,
that it cannot mend the heart,
         ... wind that sails,
and cannot carry the parts to a place to mend,
so the
pauper
can once
again,
run to
his beauty,
though
she sees
him not,
stand beside
her in the
square, knowing
that she is not even aware,
that he would
not let one hair fall to harm,

but
then the master
at arms
saw his look
and took
his sword and chased
he, the pauper
to embarrassment
but
not of riches,
cut loose his
britches,
with one flick
of his sword tip,
pauper tripped,
and it stung, landed
in the fresh, fresh dung.

He ran away
and is running still,
with out any of his
heart parts,
the hardest part,
was knowing,
she saw his holey
undergarments
showing all, to be
the first and
last thing
she saw of him,
as he ran very f***t.