I am human not a griffin. Poetry from the pen of

~The Poet’s Poet~

Peace, pleasure, love and enjoyment

Is that too much to ask for she questioned?

With a quiver in her voice

A roof over my head a home a bed

Look me in the eye tell me why

I have to beg for a bite to eat

It is the 21st century after all

Wealth is very unevenly dispersed

I had employment and a home

The company went belly up

I and many more like me left unemployed

The fat cats washed their hands of us

We, the ones who slaved to line their pockets

Left demoralised with nowhere to turn

Every door we knock on, closed in our face

The dinosaurs of this world care not a jot

We are lumbered with a debt, not of our own making

The human scrap heap grows and grows and grows

She cried bitter tears which moved those

Who sat and listened, once I enjoyed gastronomic delights

Now I sit on a cold pavement and pray for those on the soup run.

© Chris Black. January 2019                       #Poetry #amwriting