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Poems On / About POVERTY  9/3/2015 5:50:56 AM
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  173.     

No Savers & No Heroes

Knowing millions are out of work, no one doing anything about the society or economy, no savers, no heroes. Criminals do what they think is good but isn't, rapes keep going on, kidnappers are on the move, murders keep killing innocent people, wars are still on and no one will stop it. Again... No heroes and savers. God hears our prayers and doesn't answer them, only the two letters that mean heartbroken-no. Obama is supposed to make a difference but the only difference he's making is making everything else worse. The government is making ridicules laws that shouldn't be passed - they should be helping out people with their lives. A world full of hate is like committing suicide for nothing and no one cares about the death. The poverty is getting worse, and at this rate we could be going into the next Great Depression. One person shouldn't make a difference. The whole world should.
 
Alicia Meyers

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  174.     

Umbilical Cord

Birthed into igniting flames of poverty, my fade was not much. Breast fed the scares of struggle, I was bound to speak language of ubiquitous freedom. Umbilical cord, though the parting of Bhiko's and Gandhi was known, it pained me to count ours. As I open my mouth, not only do I inhale the cries of freedom seekers, but the appealing gauge grass silently mock the imitated struggle of youth adopting to rainbow nation. I bit my tongue, trying to convey the forced language, well spoked by those who remembered the soldiers not the war. Had this been a dream, I dreamt casualties in war, thou the parting of us. I never understood the colour on my skin, but never took grunted the portrayed images in the labour room. Umbilical cord, the medium of love to vein, I relate to emotions conveyed on the faces of ones titled poor.
 
Tlou Romeo

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  175.     

American Gothic

Standing here watching the setting sun go down behind the Wal-Mart parking lot. Where else can I get spirituality and cheap goods made in China by children in sweatshops? I mean free enterprise is not so damn free, now is it? I sho' do love living in the land of poverty where the minds are bereft of history. Standing here waiting for the evening sun to go down, go down behind the Wal-Mart parking lot where the crack hos and meth hos turn their tricks out, then light their pipes and blow their brains out looking for that American dream that flimflam scheme. These meth and crack heads are zombies—the living dead. Bambi is twenty-five without a tooth in her head. That's why I'm standing here watching the sun go down behind the Wal-Mart parking lot, watching Bambi go down for a nickel and a dime.
 
David Cooper

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  176.     

Dooms Day

U feel it near it’s the labels on the food you buy. It could be a neighbor that waves high. U feel it in Ur heart. U see the scorn of government as they do nothing to stop poverty. U hear about global warming, the AIDS’s epidemic. U see the inhumanity throughout the world. I ask why are we so retched, and why do I feel there is no more hope. U see were all slaves to money then we die. The country that promises so much yet takes away so much more. I ask where’s the Restitution stipulated through the constitution. Thus, doomsday is near because of the bursting dread of the illuminated goodness.
 
kasey bazzi

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Poems On / About POVERTY