monetary units fall
what was once extravagance
is worth little at all
inflation reigns
the black market profits
blood diamonds mined in Africa
trade high on the market
as I slip into poverty
my portfolio crashes
you are living in luxury
made rich on advances
prices plummet at the pump
oil, by the barrel, left to rot
you can fill up with nowhere to go
things we have left worth little or not
stuff you don't need, but still you take
hording, stockpiling all that is left
sitting in the corner of an empty room
you call it want, others call it theft
a race to the finish line
for what is to be
I guess we'll just wait
and eventually see
Poetry by M.J.B. is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License
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