Beggar’s Plight

Begging, devoid of singular form,
Knows no bound, nor essence norm,
Yet in clarity, desire takes flight,
A yearning soul, seeking respite.

In humble plea, hearts do implore,
With fervent hopes, they do explore,
No qualifications to be met,
But the longing that one can't forget.

For begging's essence lies not in wealth,
Nor in titles, nor worldly stealth,
It dwells within the earnest plea,
For what the heart yearns, desperately.

No singular qualification holds sway,
When passion's flame lights up the way,
In crystal-clear ardour, one aspires,
Unveiling the soul's deepest desires.

Begging, in its purity, knows no bounds,
In humble whispers, its voice resounds,
With honesty and need as its attire,
A plea for fulfilment, rising higher.

So let us not judge those who implore,
For within their hearts, dreams they explore,
In the clarity of desire's fire,
Begging becomes a poetic choir.