From Poverty

From poverty; unslain, preferred by the wisemen,
From which the broken wisdom came
Upon the thrones of the philosopher kings,
Came the royal scepters, brilliant crowns, and golden rings.

The rags the old beggars wore, torn and feting,
Breathed a new life into that golden lining
Of robes and roses the ruling class wore,
That the poor wrapped up their children
In the cobbles but still hobbled down them sore.

Broken spirits and bent backs, crying children and empty sacks,
Sourced the power that should bring repose back,
But what of the crimes, until now committed?
Who shall determine if the punishments are fitting?

They, and they alone, away from the shadow
Of the ruling wisemen’s throne. Step to the challenge
And deliver the sword, to the throat of the mind
That left you and your children broken and poor,
Bent and sore!