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Still Much To Be Said
Millions
of prostrated poor.
Never see.
Beyond servile slums
of suffocating cities.
Wretched live
in poverty
experiencing chronic
conditions.
In weary
subsistence life
extorted extracted
exist.
Wherefore these dwell
these wretches
see know
nothing
of earth’s beauty.
In real terms.
Darkness
brutality struggles.
Woven upon
intricate society
blinds vision
within sacred
minds.
Denizens in developed
countries
are trapped within
servile slums.
Confined within barren perimeter.
Their own stagnant mushy
flypaper made minds.
Cringing at shadows
undulating upon walls blinds.
Where deleterious bodies
show through sought
out seams cracks
signalling underworld degeneration.
Few ever possess
belief strength chance
to rise escape
above descendent
inversion layer.
To experience
what lies about among
inspiring towering
cumulus clouds.
Poverty chokes
out light
snuffing out
comforting warmth.
When blocking out
golden rays.
Signifying life
sustaining sun.
Even now still
much to be said
for the assurance
the freedom of wealth.
poem
by
Terence George Craddock
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