• Author B. D. West

Poor

Poor

Poor… How I want it to be no more It’s always knocking at my door Pushing me to the floor At the mercy of all No one hears my call In my dreams I travel to Rome A different world far, far from home It hurts to lead a poor life The power of money, it carries relief and strife Hope is all the poor can afford But even hope is a double edged sword One paycheck away from the street No familiar faces would I meet Where have all my friends and loved ones gone Now is the time to be strong

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Author B. D. West all rights reserved