Stains of poverty lay strewn
on city sidewalk littered
in mosaic patterns of thoughts,
resentment and hopelessness.
Blowing mindlessly in the wind
riding on a gust of disgust
weaving a collective disappointment
tarnished promises full of rust.
A million and one frames passed
before my eyes to process
as a second in time to wonder;
Can there be art in this?
If only what I've written.
What is broken is not fixed easily.
The state of being poor only means
lack of money...not dignity.
DionWorx
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