Broke At Home

Broke at home.

Don’t know what to do.

It seems dark and grim — not a dollar to start the next morning.

“Beans stew almost finish”

Now, my six-year old cries for milo.

“Hello,” land-lady steps in the front door ranting for ‘er lease.

“We haven’t cleared yet,” whispering in my better-half ears.

Angry and fury; swung left, right, up and down!

With tiny possibility to start earning a little extra.

Imagination is taking me far and near…

Right to the front door of financial freedom.

We’ve burst our brains to experience a life of meaning.

Please enjoy reading my poem and let me know what you think?