Let's say, that it is about nothing

Certain beggar
was laid at his gate,
full of sores,
where lords and ladies
were fed as are bores,
having no plea of guilty.

And he was desiring
to be fed with the crumb
falling from the rich man?s table.
But wasn't gifted more than scrub,
less than mouse in a stable.

Days were flowing,
in hunger and pain.
The only thing shared with others,
was wind and rain,
and dogs, licking his sores.

And it came to pass,
that the beggar died.
No more or less people did
than throwing him on grass,
at least with no desire,
to make another harass.

He was carried by the angels,
into places where no living enter,
And the time brought another,
died the rich man, his tormentor.

The following lines would be breathless,
for all those who are faithless,
therefore no more story I shall tell,
whereas odd are your minds and pray.

But let's look again at the end of flesh,
laying there, in our kingdom of life,
where justice and truth are only a mesh,
where you can't count good things over five.

Bones are dead of both, both the same,
but one had nothing, one mourners to claim,
One buried youth and older age,
and one covered sore cage.

No need to be prophet of God,
to admit that day by day we pay by blood,
tainting soil with pain of others,
killing all, including fathers and mothers.
Trying to be safe.

Damned, what a nonsense scripted above,
there is no need of being stupid dove.
For money we bleed, not the love,
and to gain profit, you must be rough.
We don't live to cry for wealth we lack,
useless faith, let's show it back!

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