The Cup

What shall I tell thee?
Hast thou not heard enough?
In the wake of the night it comes knocking
He comes in when you're sleeping
With a wine of shame and contempt
To wage war, it never relents
Poverty is not a disease
It is more; in a blink, you're deceased

Emmanuel Shadrach
(C) All Rights Reserved. Poem Submitted on 05/03/2024 The copyright of the poems published here are belong to their poets. is a non-profit poetry portal. All information in here has been published only for educational and informational purposes.