The shadows of sunshine cross my desk,
work like a prison surrounds me.
Whom do I turn to? To unlock the discord,
of the depressive uncertainty that surround me.
Millions line the dole queues,
as jobs fall daily to accounting cuts.
Life becomes a struggle for daily bread;
bills grow like mountains,
assaulting the conscious brain.
Fists hammer on front doors for monies owing,
disturbances cause neighbours
to look through corners of curtains,
gossip is rife on family’s shame.
Millions spent of foreign aid,
but what about our own impoverished land?
Who is going to give our own a helping hand?
The sad look pleading, in hungry despair.
Who hears these voices call,
only the unfortunate such as they.