The Rich Grew Rich Robbing the Pauper
The poor die young the rich live on
The Rich Grew Rich Robbing the Pauper
They took his coin with quiet smiles,
Cloaked in silk and clever wiles.
He begged for mercy, none was shown,
They bought the world with what he’d known.
Each trade, each theft, a steady beat,
The sound of riches, none discreet.
The pauper’s last pound, a slip of skin,
A weightless thing that kept him pinned.
The rich grew fat on endless greed,
Feeding off the hunger they’d conceived.
They counted gold, not souls they’ve bled,
The pauper’s worth was lost and dead.
And as they climbed, he sank below,
A shadowed grave they’d never know.
The weight of poverty, the cost of pride,
The rich are rich, and life’s a bitch.
About the Creator
♿ V+ Marie381Uk
Poetry has lived in me since childhood.
Ink spills the feelings words fear to say.
My poems heal, some haunt, all are pieces of me.
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