The room was warm
and the lights were bright
fully clothed in designer clad,
I sat at the freshly waxed table
planning to write a new poem.
Upstairs my two children
slept soundly under orchid
and ylang - ylang scented covers.
whisked into sleep by warm
sweet soothing milk.
Beside me three empty beer cans-
The spoils of a privileged birthplace
surrounded me.
In my perfect warm house,
My appeased pleased mind,
was able to feel guilt for the poorer kind.....
...As I sat at the table taking time to
perfect the poem.
A starving child had died.
An Aids ridden child had died.
A freezing child had died.
A sex slave child had died.
A mother, father, son and daughter
had been murdered for their home.
It is easy to feel pity for those who are suffering
when you have everything.
The time, the money, the food the warmth.....
So there I sat sipping my beer,
smoking my cigarette,
thinking of those that suffer,
and what takeaway dinner I should get.
Then My lover called from the next room
telling me that 'price dropp T.V' was
selling playstations for $45
jumping up I left behind my thoughts of pity
and left them to die with another child.
Not Long Left
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/rich-thoughts-of-pity-for-the-poor/
