True Poverty
Impoverished is a man who has not intently listened,
To the rapturous bliss of a child’s laughter.
Needy are those who have never whispered,
Affectionate sentiments into the ear of a lover.
Poor is he who has not opened himself,
To the hypnotic notes of a tender ballad.
A pauper you have become to not be moved,
With the sunrise, as it transforms the heavens.
Poverty clings to the man who has not sat alone,
In a forest, aware of his uncountable connections.
Affluent are those that forgive and care not,
To transport grievances over troubled terrain.
Rich is he who grants tenfold,
Sincere hugs over brutal insults.
Privileged are seekers of unlimited hope,
Who do not dwell on the past with shame.
Collect your treasures on a clear night,
When the stars outnumber your troubles.
Count your gold when aromatic flowers emerge,
From the stark branches of long silent trees.
Copyright © Michael Wayne | Year Posted 2011
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