My Poetry. Living on the Breadline!.

These days we often worry
Whether we can eat or starve,
Bills and debts piling up,
No holiday to the Algarve.

Food banks loom, they are a godsend
When nothing is left to eat,
While the rich get fatter off this land,
The poor are battered and beat.

As we try to rob Peter to pay Paul,
Nowadays bills come first;
Children are going hungry,
From when they are very small.

Governments screw the poor,
Taxes have to be paid;
The rich get richer, the poor hemmed down,
Under the breadline they have made.

Hard-working families deteriorate,
Luxuries non-existent or rare;
Children do not understand
Why the table is often bare.

As the years come and slowly go,
We wonder, will things get better?
Prices rise, money is tight—
The world of the fated debt letter.

Jobs are scarce in impoverished towns,
Benefits are deep into reform;
But the hardest hit are the working class,
They suffer, it's the norm.

What is left for our children's future?
When little or no work is around,
Even for the highly educated,
In menial jobs they are bound.

We have to live in hope,
Be positive every day;
You get your say at voting time,
But do we get our way?

© William Sinclair Manson 2025