A Chance At A Distance Nigh The Poor Poem by John Sensele

Let not my ungrateful hand
Bind the grand gift in the land
Ancestors bestowed on humankind
To make me more humane and grow more kind.

Let not my haughty heart steal
The sympathy and empathy to heal
The folks who suffer torture
At the hands of tyrants worshipping the vulture culture.

Let not my suppressed sight
Delight the pesky plight
The poor endure alone
When instead of bread I give them a loan.

Let not my brain brush aside
Sufferings the mighty inject in the pride
That denies the voiceless a chance
To carve a niche of welfare substance in their circumstance.