In the realm where fortunes tower high,
A silent chasm ‘neath the golden sky.
The rich, adorned in wealth’s embrace,
May lose the thread of their humble grace.
From penthouses grand, views stretch wide,
Yet narrow can be the world inside.
The gilded cage of wealth’s allure,
Can blind the eyes, the heart’s sight obscure.
The poor, they toil in shadowed lanes,
Their struggles etched in life’s refrains.
But words from ivory towers fall,
And echo hollow through life’s sprawling hall.
“Money’s no object,” the wealthy claim,
While others count each penny, each dime, each name.
They jest of matters light and vain,
Not seeing the weight, the depth of pain.
The rich may speak of saving beasts,
While at their feet lie famine’s feasts.
They talk of art, of grand designs,
Oblivious to poverty’s stark lines.
For them, a job’s a trifle thing,
A card to play, a string to sling.
They know not of the fear that grips,
When livelihood slips through fingertips.
They’ll say, “Just budget, plan, and save,”
Not seeing the lives they could help pave.
They speak of bootstraps, of rising high,
Forgetting the wings they had to fly.
And so the rich, in their bubble’s gleam,
May drift afar, downstream the dream.
But let us hope for a bridge to span,
For empathy to rise in every man.
For wealth is more than coins and bills,
It’s a chance to cure the world’s ills.
May the rich recall from whence they came,
And with their fortune, light the flame.
To bridge the gap, to heal, to mend,
To remember always, friend to friend.
For at the end of our shared day,
We’re all but travelers on the way.
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Amen.