Pauper

I live frugally now, almost as a pauper,
Despite my expensive possessions.
I have thousands of records to hear,
But I don't. I no longer get pleasure
From music. I, likewise, have books
Which I choose not to read, a car I only
Rarely drive. My TV's unwatched.
My meals are leftovers. I work in
The morning, then sit still at home,
Staring in silence at fields which are fallow
And hawks which come spiraling high
Over them, wondering why nothing
Matters to me. Affluence, it seems,
Can't overcome poverty once it has
Conquered the mind.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
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Written on 2020-11-13 at 22:12

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poetic pilgrim The PoetBay support member heart!
aging and sickness: one loses will and power of decisions?
2020-11-14