SOUL OF THE DESTITUTE

The soul bawls with the time
The soul bawls with the season
It's muteness comes from the countenance
It's enrage comes from the expression
The world is it's reason with no solution,
The solution we have gives us the problem
Where the Moses of the Israelites died with
The hope of seeing the promise land
The soul wail with the questions that,
Why did the good die quickly and easily,
While the nefarious last lengthy?
The affluent are the money maker whose,
Fountainhead is from the destitute.

My soul bawls with the time
My weak heart gets weaker with the clock of a,
New season with no vision
With the splash from the opulent auto and hoping to
Have good sit with the potentate
Believing that time will come while the soul bawl
The ascent of the sun remind them of the further
Dispute with sorrow from there mind while,
The rich extol the supreme being for the luminous
Day with the hope to absorb corruption in the
Consortium.

Joy has no locus to lodge in the heart of the,
Penniless with the bawl of the soul
It journeys down to the opulent heart but,
Not welcomed with remorseful act of
partaking in vices.
Who will JOY live with?