"The Poor Man and the Poor Man is Dead"
By
MoonDustGypsy1
Life below the city lights, ghostly streets,
A Poor Man’s lot, old, decrepit,
quarter smile, day old donuts, and newfound cigarette butts,
and, two sets
of reality.
The Poor Man and the Poor Man is Dead.
Only as to a gutter-wrenched heart of angels past,
Divisions always moving forward,
awaiting from beaming lightning souls.
The Poor Man and the Poor Man is Dead.
Within the cold veins of human kind,
akin of
still, yet, unmoved rocks.
Skyscraper dwelling, sterile maids, spoiled food,
and vicious, vain holdings.
The Wealthy
Man and the Wealthy Man is Alive.
Hardly in the innocence of the cradle of light,
yet
no truth save dark lies,
savage bullet-like blood, thou’ hearts of no conscience
The Wealthy Man and the Wealthy
Man is Alive.
Empty as baneful souls,
moronic minds
of
shredded paper,
currency of no shame,
and endless crooked dice.
The Wealthy Man and the Wealthy Man is Alive.
So, to who brings war torn neighborhoods from afar?
Not, of course
that Poor Man.
Only if coins were souls.
The Wealthy Man and the Wealthy Man is Alive,
The
Poor Man and the Poor Man is Dead.
The End.
Moondustgypsy1---July 6, 2004
Revised---August 3, 2004
