A rich man's son inherits want
with no desire to work hands bare
Gives the job to another man
to look out from his easy chair
A poor man's son inherits grace
born of toil and sweat of his brow
He adjudged of hard earned merit
pushes on what body will allow
The rich man's son inherits greed
with what malice it may entail
Thinking others beneath his station
for lack of character he does ail
The poor man's son inherits kindness
which with all others level stands
Then asks the outcast bless his door
to share the fruit of his two hands
Heir to what is the rich man's son
tender flesh that fears the cold
To the poor never gives his time
nor dare he wear a garment old
Inheriting, it seems to me
what no good man would wish to be
Heir to what is the poor man's son
strong muscles and pounding heart
Chipped of a marble character
beloved by all he touched in part
Inheriting, it seems to me
what all good men would wish to be
Tate
This is one of three poems I have converted to a new all video format well worth the look at what I feel is the future of our art.
Original all video version
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/aristate/1355765/
It isn't that rich people are per-say bad. Nor that poor people are good. It is the human condition that sets up society by stature. And counts wealth by monetary gain. Money is never happiness. Yet we are told all the time that it is. Look around you. See the multitudes rushing to amass their fortunes. And for what. Women who followed Gloria Steinem's ideals that you can have it all are miserable. Why? Because you can't have it all. You can't spend a life climbing the corporate ladder. Waiting to reach some plateau in your late 30s and then start a family. Children are not easy to raise. So why does money seem to make so many crazy and so many unhappy? Because money can't hold a hand. Money can't read a child's bedtime story. And money cannot make memories that last a lifetime. Shared life does that. Family does that. Descendants are the answer to selflessness. I cannot forget the look of a child's face who waited for dad to come pick him up when we were children. Only to hear again and again dad was too busy to come get him.The dreams of happiness preached on wall street are the lies that will not live forever neither will we. The smiles of children stamped in the mint of memory are the coin of the realm of happiness!
Tate