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Poem: Poor Fellow



Too weak to stand your ground?
Too hungry to fight oppression?
Too greedy to shun poison?
Too selfish to guarantee your future?

Are you indeed poor, or is it your choice?

Too often you fall for Greek gifts
Without recourse to inner giving?
No sooner it dawns as grand treachery
Conceived for your enslavement.
How, now, poor fellow?

Too often used as instrument of mayhem.
What’s your lot as four yearly goading passes?
Since gobbling the material gain,
Is purse not shallower?

Than deep-seated enmity?

Ditched in cold sea of enticement
Excitement cloak wittingly wagered?
Suddenly seeing deluding acts of rescue
Near the shores of next fourth year.
How, now, poor, wretched fellow?

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