Reality, as much you don't like it, is subjective
The world of reality is far more broad for the knowledged,
For the privileged,
Than that of a pauper deprived of a living
Whose life is bounded by the four corners of the squalid
He wonders how far stars travel,
How wide the heavens cover,
While the educated know the vastness of the observable universe.
He doesn't even know that steaks exist
And its well-coveted doneness and savory
The drizzle that nourishes your garden of hues
Sends floods to the slums of clogged sewers
An hour of tending to the seeds planted in the yard
Is an hour of hard work for,
Slacking off means a stomach to starve.
It is hope that connects the poor to their future
When it is well within the hands of the rich;
Compassion is a start to form a single reality
But it is books and bridges that truly make the ends meet.