Origin of Being Destitute
In a world of warmth men sat in luxury.
Focused only on their comforts, always smiling.
Staring aimlessly at their well to do hands.
Protected by their God, he kept the trouble away.
He would blow away their hardships flicking them from the lands.
Leaving people to relax in the sun, loving everything.
But the God became bored, the all powerful tempted his failure to protect.
When a shadow swept through his gaurd, just a small meaningless thing.
People gawked at it's fright.
Would it bite would it sting.
no, it merely wanted to sing.
But what a fear it did project.
Horror stricken children of men, cowerdly wept, and cried.
The smallest of which fell and died.
The protector felt ashamed at this disgrace.
How could his children panzy away from such a meaningless face.
He boiled hatred, stomped maddening thunder, flung poverty and disease.
The population died furtively, those left grew stronger against this bent malice.
Hardening, bracing, shaking, cold, distraught in the mess.
He became proud, they were strong, focused on his wish.
No more could peace and beauty be in everything.
No more peace or harmony, he threw it to the fish.
