Poverty

This poverty of spirit slashes like a blade.
It's inescapable, enduring.
Poor monetary, spiritually, waiting for the grave.
Did things today, tomorrow - no more doing.

With money can not be content,
With weakly knowledge can't be happy,
Sunk deep in poverty's cement,
My past attempts are laughing at me.

The coin of love, the coin of murder,
Are now two sides of currency consistent,
And silver fades, time's rot persistent,
It hardly shined, glory was much shorter,
What now, how does one make the poor heart broader?

Embarrassment and shelter from the light,
Is all you're left with, never more.
I've never showed you love before,
Your future has escaped my sight.
Called by denial to distant shore,
To where I know I'll only further lose my might,
"To love thyself" I know I tried,
My heart is weak, my hands are tied.
This property is scarce and poverty intrusive,
I am alone, past riches now illusive.