Paupers Poems - Poems about Paupers

she she walked along the silken shore crocheting thoughts and even more morning could not unravel her men’s lustful eyes freely traveled her she cleaned the windows of my soul laying together between satin sheets she took my life and rhymed for me those lines which had always dangled free and in her hands i could be an emperor of my destiny hers was a life...

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What have we done to our blue skies what have we done to our land neglectful beings that we are we abused the works of His doting hand What made us think that we were Kings in a Kingdom not quite ours with Mother Nature maimed we're paupers, living on counted...

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Mother told a story yesterday of how poets die in black penury she said I won't be a pretty poet as my dreams dance on my ink "Poets are mirror of deceit and pain craving beyond the debris of life over my dead body will you be one!" she pulled down the heaven on me! a woman is a country...

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While I'm not so sure I would go so far as to exchange our WhiteHouse Prince with our homeless shelter Paupers, I would support a matriarchal unlobbied petition that our WhiteHouse Prince could best reside in nearby resonant shelters where he will find all the advisers and secretaries and counselors he may need, and more, about what not to do to further offend those who could never afford even a part-time...

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Verily I say unto thee, The subjects of kings are not free. They answer to all the king’s court. Submitting a yearly report. If rulers own part of thy time, With a tax on every dime, Then thy freedom and liberty Is a fallacious fantasy! Canst thou even speak to thy kings? Nay! Thou must speak to underlings! Not to bishops, but to friars. Not to...

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Oh God what is wrong with your people Can you feel it, the pain and the loss Are we each to be martyred and broken Our sentence to end on the cross The world cries in vain, for a leader You killer, you pervert, you ***** As each tears the other, to pieces Still they clamber to sit on that chair There are...

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You name it ‘the city of dreams’, I m alien to this city Such an enigmatic crowd, paupers full of versatility This isn’t an account on beggars, I m not here to preach Just amazed how varied ways of begging are adopted by each Some pinch their infants and make those innocent souls weep Some victim to physical violence, those...

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