Poem of Greed



Hands opened forever,

To hold their swords-

Just like a plague, and dying by the hordes-

For open-and-close hands-

Shake hands fickle,

Eye-to-eye contact with bones bearing sickles-

And elbows that bend, like kneecaps that sprint-

Run straight for the walls, in where blood is but spit-

Cause living by the swords, is but dying by the swords-

For living by the hands, is but greedy, dirty hands-

Forever to grab evil, and then shoves it down their pants-

And chewing without thanks, is like bringing in the tanks-

To finish off the rest, by prisoners with shanks-

Smoking like a blindfolded man-

And shot to death by the banks-

Hands open wide, with the hungriest of eyes-

Like jumping werewolves-

And about to die-

Hands opened to close,

Charity ignored-

But suddenly quick to reach in pockets,

To hire them whores-

A man with dirty hands, is like a flea carrying man-

Scratching himself to death-

Dirty greedy hands-

For we choose what to do-

As a society as a whole-

But grab for greed,

And surely lose your soul…

Copyrightcopyright March 22, 2014

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