Poverty
Today's final Friday Poetically over at Onestop has asked us to take up a cause or organization we care about and write about it. In the real world, I sell houses for a family operated brokerage who has been doing this for thirty-five years. We have seen recessions come and go over those years, but the degree in which the middle class seems to be suffering this time around, I think, is a cause for concern. They are our workers, our spenders, they are the biggest majority of the population that keeps our fragile economies going. And I know for a fact many need help, and are too ashamed to ask. With equity locked up tight in properties that aren't selling and banks that won't refinance, the future looks bleak indeed. And as more foreclosures flood our listing inventory, the rich get richer, and we work harder for less. Imagine how our charities are suffering without the support of these families! It's a domino effect, and I want these people to know that they are not alone, that they can make their come back, and that that light at the end of the tunnel is going to shine for them. The definition of poverty in today's world has changed...and I think as a society, we must hang our heads in shame for letting us, as a whole, become so undone. Thanks to Brian Miller for giving us a chance to shout~out in something we believe in and feel strongly about.
Stepping off my soap box now....I give to you,
Pantry bare, the tummy rumbles
The stainless steel Bosch purrs in it's emptiness
Marble floors shine despite the filth
Of working feet trampling upon it
Day after working day.
The fireplace lies dormant,
Once the proud conversation piece,
Now simply a reminder
Of what once was.
The town is calling,
Taxes have piled up,
But still we keep on
Dreading the day we arrive home
To a notice taped upon our door.
The neighbors still smile,
As though they don't know
That our dream has been tarnished,
By the brutal reality of poverty.
We struggle to hang on
As the For Sale sign sways,
Lonely in the wind.
We are the working poor,
Simply praying for a chance,
The hope to start again
Stepping off my soap box now....I give to you,
Poverty
The stainless steel Bosch purrs in it's emptiness
Marble floors shine despite the filth
Of working feet trampling upon it
Day after working day.
The fireplace lies dormant,
Once the proud conversation piece,
Now simply a reminder
Of what once was.
The town is calling,
Taxes have piled up,
But still we keep on
Dreading the day we arrive home
To a notice taped upon our door.
The neighbors still smile,
As though they don't know
That our dream has been tarnished,
By the brutal reality of poverty.
We struggle to hang on
As the For Sale sign sways,
Lonely in the wind.
We are the working poor,
Simply praying for a chance,
The hope to start again
Comments
by the way, nice to have you on the dVerse team...smiles.
This is an important work that needs to be read by as many people as possible!
"Dreading the day we arrive home
To a notice taped upon our door."
I've seen those notices posted here and there in Michigan. I've also heard the double-speak and smoke and mirrors about our economic condition, and the people who are out stealing foreclosed homes left and right...
Fill the pockets of the rich from the working class, or non-working class...I wonder if people have forgotten what the Revolutionary War was fought over in the US?
Tax senior citizens on their social security that was taken from their paychecks years ago...double tax...triple tax to feed the banksters and industrial military complex war machine!
Wow! You really got me going, and that was a good thing! Thanks again, becuase you have written something that needed to be written!
Kudos,
Roger ☺
Your poem cuts right to the heart of the working people's struggle. The people elected to help them don't care. But we have to.
And you said that all a lot better in your poem, but ya got me goin. ;_)
Lynne