The American Nightmare

The white-collar man finds his way to work. Passing by those who lay in huddled masses. The forgotten stand on their corners begging for change. Hoping that someday things will change. They open there mouths to try and speak. No words come out, for they are too weak. There are those who stand with no property. This my friend, is called poverty. An abandoned building is a castle, filled with delight, for those who live on streets at night. There are no dreams to see, for those who don't sleep. On empty stomachs they beg just to get by. With nothing left they swallow their bitter shame. They wash it down with their tears as they cry. The air is cold, so they gather by the flame, thinking if tonight is the night they will die. Wondering why this is and who is to blame. The sun is on the rise, As though it were a prize. But only for the few, Who can afford the view.