Poverty is expensive
To those already poor -
Costing their time, wages

And spirit, yet they live
A hopeful porter
In their villages -

Subject to elitism.
I, for one, never
Received an invitation.

Would you meet me sometime
  At the space in between
The corner of reckless schism
  And the street of broken dreams?

I just covet a good word or two –
  So long as we break silence –
And I will collect an echo
  Then leave and recommence.

Weeds as tall as children
  Partially hide the dusty windows.
A long silence hangs
  Where once promise echoed.

Broken glass fills the street –
  Glittering like emeralds
To some – to a majority –
  Proving their travails.