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I see all the oppression,
That is done under the sun;
Causing so much aggression,
Tears and heartaches have begun.
The weeping of the oppressed,
With no one to comfort them;
A tyrant that is obsessed,
For whom the Lord should condemn.
The dead were more fortunate,
Than the living still alive;
For it would be definite,
They are able to survive.
Who has not seen evil deeds,
That wicked people have done;
Of what their desire needs,
That would be under the sun.
For I see all the toil,
The skill of their envy;
Like a snake that will coil,
For striking hot and heavy.
It is conceit striving wind,
As the fool folding his hands;
Vexation not disciplined,
To what his nation demands.
A handful of quietness,
For striving after the wind;
Better than two hands of stress,
That has been undisciplined.
For I see much vanity,
Accomplished under the sun;
And filled with iniquity,
That so much is being done.
One man who has no other,
With no end of his labor;
Either a son or brother,
Gets along with their neighbor.
His eyes are not satisfied,
Deprived himself of pleasure;
He will not be glorified,
To inherit the treasure.
Copyright © 2019 Richard Newton Sherrer
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The Loneliness of Wealth
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