PoetrySad Poems

Prayer of a Pained Pauper

Knock, knock, knock!
I’ve knocked for too long
And I doubt if there’s anyone up there.

All my life my face has been in the mud,
And I’m only up on my knees
When talking to you;
Just but a thin line between humility and humiliation.

I was told that several “Hail Mary”s
And a number of “Our Father”s
Can erode every plague and every peril,
And every predicament; was I deceived?

The days run towards my grave.
Starvation is still my culture.
The stray dog is grateful not to be me;
He prays to no one but is sure of breakfast.

“Give us this day our daily bread”;
The more I say it, the more it means less
Why can’t we go back to Creation
And erase this abominable tag of poverty,
And liberate me of this ancestral hex?

What a waste of time!
Surely Heaven is empty,
Or doesn’t exist at all.

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