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.
Sad that our governments look to foreign shores and close their eyes to what is so painfully evident in their own back yard. We need to take responsibility for our own forgotten homeless and those less fortunate, rather than worry about someone else's responsibility. We need to take care of our own first. Such a sad commentary on life today. Makes you wonder where it will all end. Linda
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Why when we have more people working now does everybody seem so much poorer, you work just to pay bills, nothing left for fun...10