Sta.sh
The poor...
Looking at your face,
her eyes, shredding your grace.
No silk and lace,
nor anything for a good base.
...the rich...
Watching her sit there,
your thoughts, judging her so unfair.
All your wealth and still nothing to share,
All your health and the less you care.
...the moment...
Views crossing eachother,
two in tears, the other couldn't bother.
One isn't a martyr,
but the other isn't a saviour either.
...the difference...
The cold reallistic poverty,
or a fake golden journey.
Being accused for anarchy,
or a checkbook armory.
...the ugly reality.
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The detail that stuck with me the most, however. is the way you've headed the verses, like lots of small titles. Also the verses all have a good rhyme, now rhyme isn't everything, but it sure helps if you use it well, which you have.
I would like to see more along these lines, keep trying to push yourself to produce even better work. there is allot of potential for you to add to this piece.
Very well done from me.
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