Lord's Of Poverty Poem by Daniel Ukwe

In lands both near and far,
Where people struggle day by day,
There reigns a force so dark and mar,
A curse that will not go away.

The lords of poverty hold sway,
Their grip so tight, it will not yield,
Their power grows with every day,
Their greed will never be healed.

They take what little people have,
And leave them with nothing more,
They leave them to suffer and starve,
And walk away with all the score.

They sit upon their golden thrones,
And watch the world go by,
They care not for the people's groans,
Or the tears that they make them cry.

They revel in their luxury,
And bathe in the blood of the poor,
They turn a blind eye to the misery,
And leave them to suffer more.

Their wealth is built on others' pain,
And their power built on others' shame,
They use their might to keep them slain,
And their riches to protect their name.

The lords of poverty are not of flesh,
They're a force that rules the land,
Their grip so tight, it makes a mesh,
That none can break, by any hand.

Their power grows with every day,
Their greed will never be healed,
In lands both near and far, they hold sway,
A curse that will not go away.