The Meeting Poem by Daniel J Robertson

The violent mess of hierachy
Plays on through the cracks of a western breeze,
Like the tolling of a funeral bell
As the world's cruelty breeds malice, brutes and
theives

Looking to unhinge change from a wanderers hands
As he searches his usual beat,
For a friendly donation to buy cotton for his back,
Glass for his eyes and leather for his feet.

But the little boy refused him of a meal
And frightened set into the night.
Explaining his copper must be put toward warfare
Taxes and the human rights he has to pay for.