Poverty

Steve Pearson Poetry

Hunger hangs over the poor
as shackles to the slave,
a keeper, an overseer,
from the cradle to the grave.
Witness too, the needful child
amid a sea of affluence
ne’er the two be reconciled
ne’er a fairer balance.
Witness the mother begging for alms
see her life in her eyes
the supplication of her upturned palms
as passers by despise.
Witness the father’s despairing dive
to the bottom of the pile
losing the struggle to simply survive
a land of plenty exile.
Like weeds amongst the fields of gold
impoverished people all
the hopers, the lost, the young and the old
left to the ground where they fall.

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