Rich and working poor

Rich and working poor..

You should know them,

they created your poor

Life

income

abilities

advantages 

raises 

money divides. 

Death is the equality,

cries will sound the same.  

Neither will have enough to survive, 

to buy life from a grave.  

The questions will be greater at the end than through out life itself.  

Men and women in their endeavors for equal rights separate humanity,

they will never be equal to the working poor’s 

paycheck to paycheck 

a day away from unemployed 

beggars 

echoes of hunger. 

The poor are the riches illness

burden

thorn

reminder 

Of their own hearts 

disease 

desire 

failures

truth

lies

fears

class survival.

Nothing more than a wire

Remidies will never bring a solution but rather, creates more problems.” -beth

Life, nothing more than a wire..


The mind on chaos 

can never really connect.

Every need met through a wire.

Constantly staring into empty.

A device we worship more then worships us.

Enslaved to 5g speed.

Depressed we seek for hope,

commercials offer the remedy,

take daily for life.

Escapisms at the touch of a button.

We can love and never touch,

live and never move,

look and never see,

listen and never hear, 

the poverty on the streets.

While push our carts trough stop and shop,

throw a can into the box,

make a dent in hunger,

good deed done 

onto Dunkin’ Donuts, 

even no there’s no solution. 

Search through face book 

and know how perfectly flawed you are,

so the books will sell.

Ever seeking to be one with humanity,

we dig into an abyss on google 

isolated in a hole,

the stains won’t wash off,

One more pill.

We’ll never feel,

life has become nothing more than a wire.

Voices 

Until all voices matter, not all lives will.” -Beth 

What we fail to see is; 

what we remain silent about allows the wrong parts of governments to grow, the wrong parts of human nature to thrive, whether they be on the left or right. 

They all drink from the cup of humanity, drunkards sipping from our thoughts and spewing ideologies over the frailest parts of humanity. 

So,

I closed my eyes to see.

Until we,

no matter the side can sit and hear without labeling and hate,

we encourage this great divide. 

The wrong parts of government will continue to grow, they will continue to feed us through establishment medias and of us, this torn humanity they will drink. 

Pocket full of pennies

Ive written this poem about a 4 year old boy and his imagination. 

I set out to write a story about his parents but this child grab my attention. His patents in the middle of financial hardship, his fathers job lose and the strain placed on the mother, this child’s never land, right out his back door. 

“In this place, his bodyweightless, like a child’s rhyme.”

“In this place, paper boats float.” 

http://spillwords.com/pocket-full-of-pennies/

Hope you enjoy the read