Camel through a needle's eye
The rich are cursed
in queues, they never feel thirst,
their chests burst
with pride, while lackeys durst
not cross them, opponents are coerced,
and they are so versed, so very well versed
in the avoidance of tax and all other such vexations, and so
morality is reversed
in the looking glass world in which they are immersed.
If ill, in luxury they're nursed,
in life, protected from the worst
they are cursed.
The poor may be distressed,
dressed in rags, but are blessed,
they get more of the best,
the love expressed,
knowing we are but guests
on this planet, unseduced by the wealth of the West,
and its lies. I have never seen more zest
than in the children of the poorest, who the rich call pests.
They laugh, they wave, they call, they jest.
The last will be first, but will the wealthy find rest?
My lips are pursed, I'm unimpressed.
The Rich are cursed, the poor are blessed.