Money
By J. Sotabinda
I’m mere wood transformed to paper
And adorned and bestowed numbers,
But I’m most powerful;
No one can live without me:
I make those who have me
Reach their every end;
Those who have me know no hunger,
Not much pangs nor tightropes,
And can crack all their nuts.
I’m so powerful in such a way that
Those who dearly love me
Even serve and respect me,
Worship and adore me
As their own god.
But I’m not a fair and just deity:
I make them my slaves;
My power has a fiendish price to pay:
I give them all they want
And make sure of their every whim,
But I make them toil and wear
Their souls with unrest.
And even when they have me well,
I still make them leave me only when death,
Who’s the only one stauncher than me
Comes and carries them to the netherworld.
Author’s Note: Hope this poem reaches the heart of every man.
March 2nd, 2007 at 4:59 pm
dear you, i need i partner in poetry and i think we can make a good out of all.