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I wrote this poem in the dark days of the Bush administration. I only shared it amongst closest friends. Now, I would like to share it will all you nice people here at DU. Thanks.
“The Poor Man and the Poor Man is Dead”
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.
Original Version---July 6, 2004
Revised Version---August 3, 2004
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