As books lay flat with words unread,
An unfilled bowl provides no bread.
Comfort is brought to those with means,
But what of those who lack of Greens?
Pillow bathed in tears as memories go by,
Sighs and sobs become my lullaby.
Strife and grief throughout the city,
Yet, none would care to give any pity.
Time strolls on from day to night,
Regrets with sorrow are our plight,
In the limelight we always dwell,
Too late we realized, it is hell.
Giggling are the children with mouths to fill;
Weeping is the widow who couldn't pay the bill;
Laughing in the gala are those with suit and gown;
Moaning in the ghetto are those with nothing to own.
Alone I stand to face this wrath,
For this world creates its own path.
Life’s a struggle till end’s meet,
Proceed I will, this arduous street