The Way It Is Poem by Joseph Anderson

The Way It Is

Rating: 5.0


Do our preachers in their pulpits
With expansion plans to nurse,
Strive earnestly to save our souls
Or seek to grab our purse?

And doctors, bound by ancient oath
Are our choice of live or die;
But, they keep cutting wider slabs
Of our dwindling money pie.

Some lawyers give but little heed
To one's innocence, or guilt.
The monetary gains they chase
Is how their case is built.

The merchants, lenders, landlords all
Pursue us every day.
They lure us with their falsities
And then extract their pay.

I wonder as I wander on
This capitalistic road;
Perhaps some day, perhaps some way
We'll ease this heavy load.

1998

POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
And it isn't getting any better
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
John Brown 29 November 2013

Very well written Joe. It is the way it is, but not the way it could, or should be - sadly.

1 0 Reply
Valerie Dohren 24 November 2013

It is said that a workman is worthy of his hire, but greed seems to have overtaken him as he takes more and more. Well said and well written Joseph.

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Lorraine Colon 25 November 2013

Sad story - I wish it were fiction, but it isn't. Let's keep hoping for the best. Well written.

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Kanav Justa 12 January 2014

your poems have a wonderful rhythm and flow, , , great stuff

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David Wood 16 December 2013

You are right, as always, people are always trying hard to take our hard earned money from us.

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Patricia Grantham 02 December 2013

A poem filled with a wealth of good information. So very sad but true is the way that some of the so called leaders, businesses, and people at the top and sometimes even at the bottom are so busy being concerned with filling their own coffers. Give me health and not wealth, love and not hate, caring and not selfishness. Excellent and inspiring write.

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Smoky Hoss 01 December 2013

I, along with you, wonder as I wander through this brief tenure of living, why do so many care so much for money, and so little for humanity. There has to be something of far greater importance in life than the sad accumulation of coin and possesion. I'd much rather have a very insignificant tombstone with many people gathered around mourning for me, than an enormous monument with no one near who cares at all. All the revenue in the world cannot buy one ounce of sincere compassion. Excellent poem, deeply moving, and completely compelling.

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Heather Wilkins 01 December 2013

this poem is full of truth. Starting with the preachers ending with the landlords. Everyone has a hand outstretched for a buck. a good write

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