We cry for statues,
but not kids in poverty.
Our tears are wasted.
Our tears should drown us.
The world is starved of kindness.
A shameful cyclone.
A shameful cycle.
The poor will always perish,
but statues live well.
I recall hunger,
optimistic and tired,
so do so many.
We worship the stone,
our government’s soul is stone.
Summer is so long.
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