poetry

For Crying Out Loud

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Been rich, been poor, been somewhere in between, 

been a peasant, a jester,
a warrior, model citizen, 
a queen.
Poverty’s been my trans-parent teacher,
as jobs​ got me by, without the career advancements, within my grasp and reach of my finger tip’s​ tries. 
Most lotteries​ hit, struck a nerve in others, as true natures, came alive inside they’re peace, each time, I thrived,
Yet behind each, break, in life 
I found, no matter the characters chapter, I still cried.

By Tamara Dorsey-Moore

Thinker on the Loose

Copyright © 2017 Reserved purposes intended by Perception a Road less Traveled.

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