*They say money doesn’t grow on trees. I say it does. I say, The root is evil, And the branches greed.*
They say money doesn’t grow on trees; I say it does. When eve’s lips first touched the forbidden fruit in the gardens of eden, I say she tasted money. I say the human was a broke soul, and the devil a bank teller. I say she tasted power, felt greed, lost everything to gain status. After all, isn’t that what money does to a human. Doesn’t it embody greed in the rich, Resentment in the poor And the struggle of everyone in between?
They say money doesn’t grow on trees. I say it does. Anything is money if you sell it well, my mother says I hope one day my words would promote my thoughts.
*My student textbooks define economics as society's way of managing scarce resources; I define economics as bunch of human beings scavenging the scarce to reach supreme abundance*
We created a god in the image of ourselves: A paper. Something that was blank once, but when written on Something catastrophic At the same time something of use. A paper, A human. We placed it on a pedestal and now gravity is its myth We gave it worth: Paper.
Sometimes i wonder what would happen if we burn all the money in the world. Would we find something of worth in ourselves, Or will we burn away Like the ashes of the cotton.
I heard someone say: *Money is expensive. Money comes at a cost. The mind, The body, The soul, from it all those who sell their souls never seem to get it back.*
We live in a world where a name grants you respect, And what you show is the major judge of your character than what you have. A world where the fortunate sells money for profit, And where the poor thrives on it for their entertainment. A world where virtue is an internet trend, and all money does is make a murderer out of a friend.
Fact: *The overworked is underpaid; The underpaid is overstressed, And the overstressed dies quick Offering nothing but tears in his wills.*
I say money does grow on trees. I say it is the fire accelerant in hell for the rich, And sparks of warmth for the less fortunate. Bartering and trading: Paper for worth, Value for soul, We scramble, And God laughs looking down While we cut down his money trees. Scattering around in eden Killing and dying for a little shade.
If we place value upon ourselves; If we mine the hidden treaures when the goal matches the purpose, A folly wish but maybe then when we set aside what we have, and pay attention to what we own. Perhaps then we may make a difference We may find a gem: Worth. When that day comes we’ll all be something of value: Bills on leaves.
They say money doesn’t grow on trees. I say it does. I say, Let the roots be the womb, And the branches wisdom.
I sit on the viridescent grass under the sky at night, Illuminate just a little By the constellations of stars That I've deciphered Onto the black canvas That had held before Tinges of black and blue only.
I've always craved to daub the sky, With those colours that my heart Chooses to bleed. But all I could save was Gyrates of silver, drops of pearl white And shades of celestial blue.
I spun the star string With uttermost elegance and delicacy Fearing the chagrin of Athena. As had Arachne, Her shouts and terror played before my eyes, But slowly they faded away. Eclipsed by beauty, I concocted my own essence.
My perishable hands failed to darn The fabric of celestial bodies but "We are celestial beings.", Someone once told me this . So I allowed my own stardust Flow into it with ease.
Paradigm I wove With softness that's not mine And sprinkled into them life With what was left of my whole.
Once I was done with it, I wrapped the angelic veil, Beaded with the string of Orion Onto the black space of the cosmic sky. And the universe discerned art Oozing out of my veins. But no single homosapien spared a glance. Not a single praise tickled my ears And the sonorous silence clawed at my heart. But I wouldn't let that be.
The euphony my soul warbled Cuddled deep in the milky way of my creation. Too messy to make out If all I did was disburse random symphonies. Or my messed up tiny heart Had pondered for aeons To present the orchestra my eyes saw unfold.
But none of them mattered Because the universe of my creation Was silent no more.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------- Perhaps the last post of 2k20 Happy new year in advance to all of you ❤
I wish I could write a poem. one where words fall into a rhyme to take your breath away. it may not make sense to many but I know you would understand.
like a starry night
I've been told that people are like poems. I can write a letter then another and a few more to a word to a line to some metaphors but I wonder if it ever will look like you.
perhaps you aren't a poem that fit so well on some white sheet for a stranger to read. you are stories of countless lives that feels like one, the stories wind carries on December nights.
aren't we all are some mistakes that need some correction? moving a little forward to catch a little breath.
I cannot tell how many stars have been died since the last time I wrote to you it looks so different but you would understand.
do you ever miss the stars that aren't there anymore, or does it scares you that they don't care about what you write about?
maybe people aren't poems, but stars that you write about from afar you only miss the ones that you write about.
maybe it is all our futile attempt to find a meaning to an existence that exists for a moment then drift afar.
I wish I could write but you would understand.
are words enough to tell what you feel, or the flickering lights up above are enough on a silent night? how would you know when I die if all you could hear is this familiar silence that the wind carries, would you feel the melancholy when the wind caress your skin, or would you look for warmth and wonder about the stars?
I wonder what you would write on a night like this, where the wind is a little too cold. but you always loved the snow that fall a little late a little far.
if you could be anywhere where would you go one among the stars or some lines on a white sheet?
I wish I could write, but I can't, I know you would understand.