Soul of the Destitute

SOUL OF THE DESTITUTE The soul bawls with the time The soul bawls with the season It's muteness comes from the countenance It's enrage comes from the expression The world is it's reason with no solution, The solution we have gives us the problem Where the Moses of the Israelites died with The hope of seeing the promise land The soul wail with the questions that; Why did the good die quickly and easily, While the nefarious last lengthy? The affluent are the money maker whose, Fountainhead is from the destitute. My soul bawls with the time My weak heart gets weaker with the clock of a, New season with no vision; With the splash from the opulent auto and hoping to Have good sit with the potentate Believing that time would come while the soul bawls The ascent of the sun remind them of the further Dispute with sorrow from there mind while, The rich extol the supreme being for the luminous Day with the hope to absorb corruption in the Consortium. Joy has no locus to lodge in the heart of the, Penniless with the bawl of the soul It journeys down to the opulent heart but, Not welcomed with remorseful act of Partaking in vices. Who will JOY live with?