To Wealth Poem by Michael Morrison

Despite your puny little war
I am no casualty
for you won't let me die.
You water me

with tears of poor illegal eyes
mothers crying for imprisoned sons
you feed me unemployed made with your lies
losers at games of chance rigged so you won.

And you build prisons everywhere
and trap those left behind in debtor's cage
but when the price of folly and neglect
comes due, you fly into a rage.

You will not take care of the least of us
although of all it; s you who have the most
you ride in limousines and take their bus
unaware that you'll be Marley's Ghost.

You wish me dead because my cost is great
but eradicating me costs more than that
so the wretched you leave to their fate
their portion add to yours and you grow fat.

For this the ultimate in irony
you feed me bodies while I take your soul
those without you force into nobility
while your wretched heart will never grow.

You will not share the gold coins from your pile
your greed has made you blind- you will not see
that I'll be testimony at your trial
and condemn you. I am Poverty..