Decrepit buildings rest upon each other
Weary day hovers, smothered in malice
Echoes listlessly fall off crumbling walls
Milk-coated mirage melts in to the west
Brown-specked, emaciated trembling flesh
Fumbles for another cancer stick of chance
Gripping tightly on to a bottle of liberty
Confronting hopelessness sip-by-sip
Befallen to reality of poverties uneven odds
Birthing hunger’s infant deficit on soiled sheets
Indigent affluence lays fetal on a cold sidewalk
Death awaits another uneventful serf’s death
Rotting Holy Flesh of God’s Grand Design?
No, it was another Judge…., the righteous, privileged Man.
Showing contempt for the Maker, whilst fattening themselves
For the day of slaughter. Greed knows no comfort.
Blessed are the Poor
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