The Living Dead

Poverty is a universal thing
The misery and sadness it inevitably brings
Cannot be compared to anything else
Can never be understood by those born into wealth
Minute by minute, Day by Day
Check by Check, One can only pray
To survive starvation not to mention humiliation
Sooner or later I lose all sensation
For those who make it, I have much admiration
To sleep in silk satin, when the dirt floor was your creation
Not to say that you forgot
The days when everyone else's bellys were full
And yours was not
Poorness is like a shadow
Its something I can never out grow
Its a powerlessness without regard
of its victims no matter how hard
they try to break free from its grip
The mind cannot be tripped
The shine and bling from your silk and gold
Cannot give light to the dim story your eyes have told
Poverty is the fuel for my engine
or it can be the worst poison I can imagine
It is the energy that pushes along my wheel people
whom's backs are the seat of the have mores
They thrive on the weak and feeble
Although they claim always open is the opporunity door
LIARS, IT IS NOT TRUE
My color, history, class and being
Are too obese to fit through
I am not the type of person they are seeing
come through the golden gates of "opportunity"
why can't it be me?
what have I done that is so wrong?
All I have in the world is this song
that I must sing because I know
I am among many with this kind of woe
pain, strife, suffering, sadness, stress, and dispair
keeps me falling and falling until no one is there
until darkness devours you and becomes you
and one has no idea of what else to do
DIE.
But I cannot do this, why?
I can't afford to die
I can't afford to live
I can't afford to take
I can't afford to give
So I stay
stagnant, rotting
Feeling every open sore throbbing
And just as sure as you have sat there
and this poem you have read
I will continue to live and spread
the invisible truth and muted voice of the living dead.