It has no joy—
No bells to ring.
No songs for
The heart to sing.
Dawn to dawn,
It plagues the poor,
With relief—
Nevermore.
It doesn’t give,
But rather takes—
Leaving victims
In its wake.
It gives no peace
And little sleep.
And drains the faith
Until it’s weak.
Hunger seems
To be its trend.
Will such stigma
Never end?
And always,
There's uncertainty,
But such is the way
Of poverty.