by Belle Webb
Oh, destitution, you cruel fate,
How you strip one's life to a desolate state.
No food to eat, no roof over head,
No hope, no joy, just despair and dread.
The pangs of hunger gnaw at the gut,
A constant reminder of one's plight.
The cold, hard ground is a bed,
And the stars above are the only light.
Begging for alms, with shame and fear,
Living day to day, with nothing near.
The rich ignore, the poor sympathize,
And in the middle, the destitute cries.
But even in the darkest hour,
Hope is the flame that can empower.
For those who have lost everything,
Know the value of the little things.
A kind word, a helping hand,
Can be a ray of light in the barren land.
So let us not forget the destitute,
And do what we can to help them pursue.
For one day, fate may turn the tides,
And leave us in the same destitute ride.
Let us remember the muse of the destitute,
And act with empathy, love, and gratitude.
Belle Webb🪶©2023
Follow Poetry by Belle
Featured on It Be Life | Facebook
Comments