As my insides start the day in pain, rumbling, aching,
The world continues revolving, moving.
As I lift myself from my dirt bed, restless,
Greater men rise from their soft clouds, peaceful.
As I hear the cries of my three younger brothers, weeping, sobbing,
The smell of breakfast fills the kitchen of another house, wafting, enticing.
As I slowly move towards my begging place, frowning, pleading,
Lights turn on in offices, brightening, greeting.
My stomach still grumbles at me, imploring, complaining,
While others’ waistlines continue expanding, bulging.
Dirt persistently covers me becoming my skin, tainting, staining,
As pure water flows from silver spouts, cleaning, refreshing.
I stumble back to my brothers, sorrowfully, heartbrokenly,
As many fathers greet their children joyfully, exuberantly.
I never know if this day will be my last...
Will the sun rise again?
Anonymous
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