Cry of Poverty

Empty hands that search for grace, A gentle touch, a warm embrace. Not just hunger, cold, or pain But longing hearts that still remain. Beneath the weight of worn-out days, Where sunlight fades in smoky haze, Lives a quiet, aching refrain The whispered cry of silent pain. Beneath the quiet, worn-out shoes, A thousand stories none can choose. Whispers soft of dreams once bright, Dimmed beneath the fading light. Hope feels distant, far, and thin, A fragile light worn from within. Children’s laughter fades to cries, Underneath gray, unforgiving skies. Yet in the stillness, deep and bare, A spark remains, a whispered prayer. For dawn to break this endless night, To turn the dark to gentle light.