The Poor You Will Not See Poem by Erin Cowart

The air is heavy today
And sits on my chest
A crushing reminder of unmitigated loses

I will labor to breath in and out
While the weight of miseries pushes down
In unwelcomed pulses of desperate cries

Millions of voices raised in revolt
Millions in hunger and strife
And only me to hear

I want to feel less
But if I do not see and hear
Then who would know

Who would know the desperate struggle
Of holding on to hope
While trudging toward nothing but hopelessness

Who would feel the burn of hunger
And the frantic pain of sickness
That are drowned out by weak promises of help that never arrives

There is no bread
There is no hope
The sick get sicker
The dying get dead

The poor stare at me in my nightmares
And I stare back, helpless
They will still be poor and so will I

Dying together under the weight of secrets
The untold stories of the people
No one wants to see

Clawing, ripping, fighting our way through the days
Only to fall and weep and burn
At night when no one sees

The silent scream in the shower
So no one can hear
The inhuman sound raging from your soul

Begging for help
For scraps of left overs
The mention of our names from your lips

The uncomfortable truth
Buried under your comfortable lies
And shining institutions of greed

I see you
And you see me
And I know that you know

You can pretend for a while more
You can cast shadows and distractions
And still I see you

You can put on a show
And give your alms
And still you see me

A silent reminder of your selfishness
A glaring rebuke of your holiness
A fire burning that will not be put out