The Poor and Damned
The poor and damned make do with what they haveWhile those of higher stations live in ease
And breeze through life as though they’re born with wings;
They kinda are. If life is track and field
Their paths are smooth, their shoes the highest breed,
They’re trained from birth to not just run but win
And win they do. Here’s their competition:
The poor and damned who run barefoot through cracked,
Unbalanced paths, where some don't even lead
To the end of the line but wind back to the start.
The poor and damned. While some have shoes, they’re cheap
And slip or tear half through the race which takes
Precious seconds and will to run as well.
So, they shuffle toward the finish line,
Hang their heads in sorrow, and watch the rich
Who laugh and wave, get in their fancy cars
And head to spas to rest their aching legs,
Soon good as new, with no thoughts given to
The poor and damned. The few who don’t have legs
Are crawling, fingers bleeding, inches from
The starting line. It’s gotten dark and yet
They dig their nails into the ground and pull
Bodies forward, regardless how it hurts.
The billboard’s glow their only guide, though dim.
The billboard where a pretty girl’s sitting
Beside a man in an expensive car,
And looking out, stretched hands inviting us:
The words: “This Can Be Yours” placed underneath.
The poor and damned keep digging. Digging. Digging.
Poetry by Sameen
Read 152 times
Written on 2026-06-30 at 17:16
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