The Death of Poverty
He was born like that
He was born into poverty
And his parent spoke it religiously to his ears
That this chain must be broken
Broken by work, work and nothing but hard work
His parent worked till their dying day
Only to still remain in chain
Fetters fatter and more stubborn with age
With determination he set out in rage
Bearing the pain, shame, hunger, and inhumanity
That the rich dream must become reality
Now, he is old, looking at then and now
The faded colour of poverty still painted today
And it will surely coat tomorrow
In this thought he was lost
Not knowing when he wandered to the edge
The neighbourhood of the dark one in black hood
He was seized by the neck and ceased
His orphaned son decided to be himself unlike his father
Or his strict grandparent of no par
The best singing couple our church ever had
But an ability self labeled vice they never shared
Not even among factory brethren with whom they worked hard
The orphaned son took to the pun shop
His father’s sacred baseball kit
In exchange for his love, his passion-
A guitar
Always under the oak tree the orphan sat
Harmonizing the strings
Using his father’s words as a song:
“Of how he was the best bat man in town
But the game he loved so much
He had to quit
For it was but a lure
Away from his purposeful journey
In the combat to kill poverty”
As the orphan sang, playing guitar one day
Soaring in the clouds of rhythm
A Cadillac had since stopped by
The occupant arrayed in fine fabric
Nodding with misty eyes
Wondering why a talent as this
Should waste away
He resolved in his heart to take him away
[...] Read more
poem by Osagie Isiramen
Added by Poetry Lover
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