Never Enough

Hooded figures beg sorry eyed
In tortured shivers on wet, rainy days
The cold, damp clothes never dry, 		
Their sleeping bag, open, in the way
This wretched world still the same.

Lost promises with haunted looks,		
Both homeless, bullied then vilified			
With cruel pangs of devilish hunger, 
For the soup kitchens by design
Remind humanity “Hey, I am alive”.

In offshore seas their havens thrive,
Pampered, grasping, rights by birth,
As high gated walls deafen the cries,
A class above with moneyed thirst
Pour traditions of unchristian worth.

The change of shoes mends a soul
As mansions grow, concern slides
And social orphans nowhere to go.       
Money’s not the cure, only a divide
And never enough is the reply.

Copyright © | Year Posted 2017

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Date: 9/26/2017 5:36:00 PM
Hello Mark Palmer, nice to meet you. Welcome to Poetry Soup. Your poem is vivid.The homeless people have it very rough. Have a nice evening my friend.
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Date: 9/20/2017 5:21:00 AM
A very pithy and penetrating narrative filled with relevance and deep meanings for our time/society. I enjoyed reading this very much.
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