Nothing in our lives do we ever truely own.
All passes to the next man where the evil seeds are sewn.
What is it in our minds that makes posession such a need.
Why can no one in thier hearts simply do a friendly deed.

Most of us will give a dime, a dollar feeling well.
Yet greed resides in all of us, I fear we'll burn in hell.
How is it those who have the most, the least likely to share.
As if cash is bonded to thier soul, and do they even care?

Passing poor men in the streets, poverty was not thier choice.
Nor caused by thier decisions, still no one will hear thier voice.
Many not on drugs, many stricken by bad luck.
We're not in thier tattered shoes, so we don't give a ----

The homeless one in three, were once protectors of our land.
Soldiers fought for freedom, if I could, I'd lend a hand.
As it is, I'm stuck out here, though I am not alone.
Fighting for our freedom, praying that I'll make it home.

Good Write thank you for sharing and thank you for serveing

wow!!! i just love your poem, it has a unique feel to it and a very nice rhythm... i enjoyed that very much...thank you for your service..