I die in the graves of many
and as beautiful as a day
I watch the body crumbles
until its life is gone.

For a stranger to this land,
I must carry silver and gold
in my pocket and my face
if I fear myself to die in pain.

If I own nothing, then Iā€”
I own a grave to rest the poor,
whose life is uncounted
but death is tallied.

If by chance a heart gives,
a living soul be saved again,
but the pain to watch the poor,
then I die in the graves of many.

Photo by Gabriel on Unsplash
Ā© 2018 Onie Maniego and The Paper Drafts

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3 thoughts on “Graves of the Poor

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