Your eyes, like diamonds
I could never afford
Your lips, the rarest of wine
For my beer pocket's pennies
Your slumber, rich and far off distant
As I am left to work the graveyard shift
Your hands, have held foreign sands
While mine have dug deep in stagnant soil
Your words, placed on silver platters
Served up with warm relish
Your face, chiseled like a museum sculpture
Mine beneath a mud clay mask
Your breath, worthy and worldly devine
As I struggle with asthmatic intentions
Like the Little Match Girl trudging along
Looking into storefront windows of warmth
What seems like a treasure, not easily obtained
Better be mine, if filing bankruptcy....
Broke
Filing for bankruptcy is a daunting process. In America good credit is more important than money. This is a very nice poem.
Why is it that we always struggle with our secret fear of unworthiness? ... a self-chastising for wants that we believe to be unattainable? ... the heart knows best... and it is always worthy of our greatest desires... a bittersweet morsel your pen has delivered here... I sigh for the time I have wasted in self doubt...
This is serious stuff here, the contrasts are very poignant indeed. I have been on both sides of these matters in my life. But I am glad I started out poor, that I think was a blessing because it helped me appreciate it when I finally broke even, and I already knew money does not equal happiness.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Filing for bankruptcy is a daunting process. In America good credit is more important than money. This is a very nice poem.