Real Poverty by Kai-Anne Clews

In becoming aware of my poverty, That I have not true life or true wealth, In realizing the authority, that, Belongs with the Lord alone, Himself. I then saw the great poverty, Even in the rich or well bread, I saw the spiritual malnourishment So much the worse than the want of bread. But want of Love is poverty, The worst kind of violence to slowly starve, That disfigures the original mortality, That cares not for others or even anymore, the self. This living death that frames loveless eyes, This “security” that never cries, That comfort of a well-stocked tomb, That sparkling and glamours doom. Oh, but if you tell them of their nothingness, They sneer and then turn it as proof, That they should do whatever they like, And thus, then remain then aloof… Humility cannot touch them, It feels only like useless humiliation, Oh, pray then for the prideful, like the poor, They live in every nation.