[ CW ] No repeated words , poem on poverty ( Difficult )

Lost ears peered into morning male meeting of two, 
 Untangling with care, held perception. 
 Upon leeching world poverty, financial inequality, 
 Both firmly correct by internal election. 
 
 
 
 Whilst sipping coffee, said conversation grew soggy, 
 My biscuit immersed drier yet. 
 Within early confines they replayed scripted lines, 
 An overused, un-excused cassette. 
 
 Youth pumped reality preceding present vitality, 
 Stated if we need help penniless poor. 
 Governments should uproot every despotic, commander, psychotic, 
 but his counterpart couldn ’ t disagree more. 
 
 The Elder, had years leading aged argument frontiers, 
 He believed cities festered homeless below. 
 Affluence didn ’ t cotter, creeping light or seeping water, 
 Giving trunks for these “ weeds ” to grow. 
 
 While civil war play in air-conditioned café, 
 Filled tables bustled; tea, cake and quiche. 
 A human crouton cloth propped, outsides greasy adopt, 
 Fought completing patched money Pastiche. 
 
 Skin film sprawl, congealing bundled ball, 
 bare feet; muscles, joints, bones. 
 All remaining tufted stray, lucky through name, not decay, 
 muffled sob, one too many loans. 
 
 Further down road crevasse, split ‘ cross impasse, 
 Cupped hands; nickels, prized dimes. 
 Foetal position, look, disposition, 
 stifled shiver, multiple fines. 
 
 Massed needy take less than lonesome greedy, 
 as lives roll off like trailed foggy grey tears. 
 Quiet escape; slick silent scrape, 
 Ignored voices are vandalised smears. 
 
 Snowballing bicker, discourse belches forth thicker, 
 Spraying sugar from diabetes packed lips. 
 Rattling cages; argued paragraphs, pages, 
 About those growing flora, surviving on tips. 
 
 I left them converse societies hearse. 
 It isn ’ t our place deciding who ’ s right. 
 Each appeared well dressed, pack fed, abundantly blessed, 
 Neither falling asleep hungry tonight. 
 
. 
 
. 
 
 ( This was the hardest thing I have ever written { 14 yrs old } ) 

