"povery" poems
America written on your lady of liberty statue in new York harbor
You ask the tired poor weary those yearning to breath free
And we are here hiding in the silent shadow of that statue
Wating in articulate rage for our change to come
We cry out to you from the thousands in job lines
From the welfare lines and cheap bargain stores
While eating the corner store's high priced make-believe steaks
And bullet proof beans that make up our daily bread
The American dream for us is quickly becoming a home grown nightmare
Even while we're awake and slowly the great horn of plenty is running dry
For we are overworked,overlooked,underpaid,victimized
And forgotten in this land of the free and home of the brave
The money eagle still flies, but too high for the poor to catch
Blacks Whites Yellows Browns all sing the blues of hard times
Some off key and some on key Congressmen and city council legislate themselves higher salaries and less days to work along with longer vacations and more fun times
Democrats are doing it to their secretaries,while the Republicans are doing it to the Nation
Taxes are high and utilities too
The cost of living is going up while the chance at living is going down
Food stamps are cut in half as hunger cuts human throats
As our world turns people in other lands are watching us too
The want for a better life clings like a bad season
Povery's sorrow slides past the cheap wine inspired laughter
The stolen *** moments that blot out everything but the intense need
Can I get a witness?
Jul 15, 2014
Jul 15, 2014 at 4:23 PM UTC
A comfortable bed, with the fine touch of feathers,
The warmth of heaven, where my body would meander,
I could dream of anything, anything at all
Of beauty, of lust, of bliss, of all
Of happiness I have always wanted to clasp
But with these worn-out hands, povery is all I can grasp
I can dream of nature, that is wishing to pass through me
Of the tying clouds, with each turn turning gloomy
My hands can wrap over all of the flowers
Each of their petal, with my touch in delight
But with my shattered eyes, all I can give them is fright
Only in my sleep, I become a dreamer
While I am awake, I feel worse than the reaper
My scent disgusts even the winds
That break upon me
Like my shattered dreams
And though my dreams and my comforts are all in a nap
The stale street and its cold is all I can have
Aug 29, 2017
Aug 29, 2017 at 10:37 AM UTC