The Magic Of Poverty
Despondency, our morning cloak
worn through the lonely day,
walking poverty's empty corridors
remembering promise that broke
in castles made of clay.
Indignation trapped in a heart
desire lost in a fog
poverty's special magic where,
a lover becomes a tart
a spouse a snarling dog.
Voices raised in anger
hands wrung in despair
faces with no love
self-pride a stranger
confidence a rare affair.
Tired wishes, empty hopes, tears
and broken dreams,
short lived loves, brittle vows,
tomorrow filled with fears;
poverty's melody themes.
Our daughters and our sons
innocent and intent
born in the labyrinth of poverty;
a dark place bright hope shuns,
dreams are never sent,
by the force of poverty drawn
to become the labouring crowd,
filling the world with plenty, yet
missing out on the golden dawn,
their passions by poverty cowed.
Visit ann arky's home at www.radicalglasgow.me.uk
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