POEM

POVERTY



HE IS A GHOST,
THAT I AM AFRAID OF MOST.
BUT I CAN'T BE GET RID OF HIM.
EVEN WHEN I CLOSE MY EYES,
HUNGRY FACE COMES TO MY MIND.
FEEBLE CRIES HEAR AROUND.
I SEE HIS SKELETON DANCES,
IN MY NIGHTMARE AND LOSE MY SLEEP.
IT WAS IN MY CHILDHOOD I SAW HIM CLOSE,
STRETCHING OUT HIS CLAWS
AND BULGING OUT HIS EYES.