PauperI 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
Read 27 times
Written on 2020-11-13 at 22:12
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