Wealth’s Poverty

~ Wealth’s Poverty ~
~
We lie atop the sacrificial slab,
and with our quill,
our heart we stab,
blood words upon our skin we scribe.
Our hope?
That others those blood wrought words
will read,
and from spiritual poverty
be freed.
~
The goal of every word
we write?
To free another from
our plight.
Our truths we see, we say,
and for our truths
we’ll fight,
and from darkness,
the willing
we will
drag
to light.
~
In the shadows do the wicked dwell,
from whence the poor,
with false hopes cast as arrows,
they fell.
With mistruth they bind the masses,
spreading hopes of salvation,
which they buy,
then tell.
Lottery promises of escape from poverty,
they sell.
Hopes, of freedom from this
mortal hell.
~
A piece of soul-scribed skin,
from our flesh they flay,
a map they intend to use,
to help them find their forgotten way.
~
We won’t beg, or plead for the wealthy
to stay.
You see,
our stolen words do the rich mislead,
for though salvation’s map is true,
the needle-eyed gate is one
which rich thieves will never
pass through.
~
Peaks of luxury do the wealthy climb,
while down below their workers wade in slime.
With no excess sufficient to their unsated greed,
they’ve let this world slide and slip to seed.
Loud do they their lying anthem proclaim,
“There will always be the needy!
So let them toil and bleed
while upon their labors,
we,
the wealthy,
feed.”
~
And yet unshuttered eyes easily do see,
the rich have finally gone insane…
Their mad intent?
To keep this broken world,
the same.
~
For their obscene wealth,
the rich feel no shame,
and on the burdened shoulders of the poor,
heap they all blame.
~
Unwanted garments from their shoulders slough,
gourmet delights uneaten,
left to rot,
till from their banquet tables,
once good food falls with a putrid
plop,
sustenance they’ve let turn into
slop,
while from hunger
they let the poverty stricken
drop.
~
When will we,
the victims of wealth’s poverty,
from our indentured slavery
turn, not flee?
~
I fear
not soon
enough…
~