When I think poverty, here's what I see,

Beaten down faces and thousands of frowns

Shutdown dreams in the land of the free

An economic scale that always points down


“Why don’t they get a job instead of free-loading”

“Will work for food,” their attempts are overlooked,

“Don’t look, ignore them, give them nothing,” scolding.

No change occurs and their meals stay uncooked


Kind of like your childhood toys,

Homeless people are forgotten,

aging with the years, rags for clothes, not making any noise,

Everything is the same and so words remain unspoken


They fight for everyday survival to end in piles of trash,

being blown away by the wind as if never existing in a silent clash.


This poem is about: 
My community
My country
Our world


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