In halls where whispers shape the laws,
Where fortunes bloom from dark applause,
A silver tongue, a hidden hand,
They carve dominion in the land.
The weight of gold, the price of souls,
A currency that war controls.
It bends the weak, it crowns the strong,
Yet sings a hollow, soulless song.
The hunger grows, the thirst remains,
No feast will ever quell the pains.
For power’s wine is bittersweet,
It drowns the heart but feeds deceit.
They rise with suits in tailored thread,
A crown unseen upon their head.
They buy the judges, write the rules,
And leave the masses bound as fools.
A nation built on shattered trust,
Where paper turns the flesh to dust.
The more they take, the less they give,
And still demand the right to live.
They drain the well, they claim the sky,
They strip the earth, they sell the lie.
And when there’s nothing left to take,
They smile and call it ‘market’s fate.’
Oh, money talks with poisoned breath,
It buys a life, it funds a death.
It starts a war, it feeds a king,
Then leaves the poor with suffering.
The streets are filled with outstretched hands,
While towers gleam with stolen lands.
A banker laughs, a worker bleeds,
A cycle fed by blindest greed.
A dollar spins the world in chains,
A deal is signed in silent pain.
The more they hoard, the less they see,
That wealth is just captivity.
For when the final bell is rung,
And breath escapes the liar’s lung,
No gold will buy the soul’s release,
No power grants eternal peace.
Yet still, they chase what turns to dust,
A throne that falls, a blade that rusts.
They trade their hearts for fleeting gain,
But in the end, what do they claim?
Only echoes in empty halls,
Only ghosts behind their walls.
And though their greed had known no bounds,
The grave is still the equal ground.
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This poem rings so true.
Thank you, Michael! I truly appreciate that. I hope all is well, and I wish you a great night. 😎