poverty

"I bemoan my existence," Poverty began,
Its voice a mere whisper against the cacophony of the world.
"I am the uninvited guest at every feast,
The shadow that dims the brightest of days.
I am the cold that seeps into bones in the dead of night,
The emptiness that echoes in the belly of the hungry.
Born of scarcity and bred in neglect,
A cycle unbroken, a lineage of despair.
The thief of opportunity, the robber of potential,
The silent assassin of dreams.
Contrast to prosperity, counterpoint to wealth,
The dark canvas upon which the light of fortune merely flickers.
The unwelcome narrative in the story of civilization,
The chapter most would choose to skip.
The plot twist that no one desires,
The character development that everyone dreads.
The conflict in the plot of humanity,
The crisis point without resolution, the climax that never arrives.
Antagonist in the tales of triumph,
The hurdle in the race for success, the storm in the season of harvest.
The test of character, the measure of strength,
The true face of resilience.
The lesson taught in the school of hard knocks,
The diploma earned in the university of life’s harsh realities.
The question that lingers in the air,
The problem that remains unsolved, the riddle that puzzles the greatest of minds.
The debate that stirs the halls of power,
The discussion that fills the rooms of thinkers,
The dialogue that never ceases among the wise.
The paradox of plenty, the irony of growth,
The enigma of progress.
The constant reminder of imbalance,
The evidence of inequality, the proof of injustice.
The challenge to the conscience, the test of morality,
The examination of ethics.
The narrative that demands to be rewritten,
The story that begs for a different ending,
The tale that yearns for a twist of fate.
The voice that calls for change, the cry that seeks compassion,
The plea that asks for understanding.
I am Poverty, and I bemoan my existence,
For I am the reality that should not be,
Yet I am the truth that must be faced.
The darkness that seeks the dawn,
The silence that awaits the song,
The stillness that anticipates the dance."
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Comments
This is sad, it moved me. Very real.The last stanza is strong, also beautiful.
You said it well, Thomas. In my humble opinion, this is your best work.Â
P.SÂ I still have a soft spot for Whispers of Ireland.Â
ty bernadette, i think the wake and the boglands are better though