Condemning Poverty

A soft knock on a dilapidated door,

The door to a homeless home

In shackles; enough to signify

The dearth of money.

Enough perhaps, to also signify the paucity

Of hope, heart and hearth.

This home, a cage for the raucous rage

Which eats into the spirit

Of the boy’s mother and father,

Burdening them with more

Than they will ever be able to hold.

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The boy astounds me.

He resides ordinarily in his home,

With windows through which

Stares curtly the stark reality

Of nothingness, and beyond.

Yet, he is unperturbed,

Unlike his parents, a childish grin

Still adorns his grimy face.

Perhaps it is the fact that

He has not yet seen the world, neither

The filth that barges through

The doors of his home,

The lack of opportunity and meaning,

The flood of disease that infests his life.

Or perhaps he has the courage to smile,

The virulence to chase his dreams,

to believe In goodness and leave behind his

Condemning poverty.

 

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