Megan Rose's Poetry: Book Two

Poverty.

Dibs in purses and banks, filthy rich people living in palaces and mansions,

Tip of an iceberg they're, the rest are filthy sleeping on the ground restrained from the soft cushions.

Lucrative world, the poor's voice can't be heard, the door of joy is closed in their faces as they're covered in dirt.

Rich world? They can't let you in, money is happiness? Pillow is the perfect place to have remorse for your sin.

Rich men, you might feel a hint of envy in the ink of my pen.

Though you're supposed to hold a grudge against me as my conscience is sane.

While others are out and about rummaging through trash cans, what kind of life do you think that is man?

Just put yourself in poverty's shoes, oh wait you're so wealthy and got too much to lose.

Horribly you despise the ragged clothed in need, all you have to bestow is your needs, you just close your eyes upon your royal pedestal and let the wretched suffer in misery.

'Get rich or die trying', trying to rob the root of evil through lying, through the souls you're gratis buying.

Groan and moan, penury is on your forehead drawned, but we're striving for your rights you're not alone.

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Written By: @MeganRoseMckinney & @KlionKingdom