We all have a drake wrapped about us,
Like a scaled shawl,
The regal emerald of opulence,
It speaks poisonous globules into your ear,
Greed and want and thievery,
A forked tongue caressing your lobe,
It wants you to take,
And take again,
Despite what the lizard whispers,
You mustn’t covet all,
You can’t possess the world,
You don’t own that treasure,
Or that heart,
You can’t count the worlds coins,
Don’t heed the hissing of the green dragon,
Just be your pure self.
Some souls are possessed by a green devil,
The spectre of avarice,
That glitch in human nature,
An eye for gain at others expense,
Be it famine or war or natural disaster,
There is always profit to be made,
Greed will find a way,
Cataclysms for the many,
Are opportunities for the few,
To hell with the consequences,
As well as everybody else,
When the sky gleams crimson,
Nine of ten of us will suffer,
And one will be making a mint.
A virus has spread rapidly betwixt populations,
Not of the medical slant,
But one of conditioning,
That green corruption,
A religion of dollar notes and bankrolls,
Worship of excess,
We are converted at birth,
The nickel and cotton are the priests of this cult,
An emerald plague,
We submit ourselves to their prestige,
Their amassment,
It pervades every facet of our lives,
From the crib to the crypt,
The slum up to the manse,
Yet this is no sacred belief system,
It’s a creed laid upon viridian mandates,
It’s capitalism,
It’s greed or starvation.
During this time of crisis,
As the world chokes,
In bile and fluids,
The beancounters are hard at work,
Estimating the cost to the land,
Not in life of course,
But that of greed,
Prosperity before people,
Finances over family,
Cash over compassion,
Rat hearts hollowed out decades ago,
They’re sweating bullets,
Productivity could be down,
As the plague drives on,
Numbers do indeed go down,
Yet only the ones with dollar signs,
Are heeded,
The actuaries titter to each other,
Rodent-like and mechanical,
Life is an acceptable loss,
The spreadsheets add up,
The world wheezes,
And once all of the cheques have bounced,
The question becomes,
Whom do we eat first?
Atop my throne,
Flanked by steadfast smokestacks,
I often look to the skies,
The heavens,
Just visible through the neon pollution,
I admit I see only dollar signs,
I’m something of an industrialist,
Not exactly human,
The furnace within my ribs can only consume,
I auctioned off that old beating thing,
Ages ago,
Didn’t even get a good deal,
These iron hands may be cold,
But they work fast,
Because time is money,
Progress for it’s own sake,
All the green notes in my claws,
Create only more green in my eyes,
Humanity’s future lies on the profit margin,
Flight is wasted on the birds,
Beauty wasted upon angels,
Strength pointless in beasts,
These things should be ours,
Or mine,
Where’s the profit?
Where’s the progress?
The world can go down in flames,
Go under,
I’ll never notice,
I’ll be bathing in bullion.
There once was a man,
Bound to urges not his own,
But those of a monster,
A hydra of urges,
A terrible triad,
Serpentine and destructive.
It slivers unrestricted through his veins,
It chews relentlessly on his soul,
Coiled around his heart,
As an aegis,
And a prison,
Compelling and overwhelming.
He is the hydra,
And the hydra is him,
Three heads full of fangs,
Cruelty, Greed and Secrecy,
They nip and bite at one anothers flanks,
Tearing open each others plans.
One named Cruelty,
One head wishes the end of all things,
Its eyes sear with hatred,
It urges him to murder,
It rages at every breathe mankind takes,
It hisses in delight at the torture.
One named Greed,
It yearns for all the world has to offer,
And all that it doesn’t,
No amount of wealth is enough,
The green serpent glowers on with want and disdain,
It is the very spirit of envy.
One named Secrecy,
An antidote to save a life,
A confession to vindicate an innocent,
The esoteric serpent denies all,
No secret is too minor,
Kept secrets save no lives.
There once was a man with a monster within,
But was it a hydra?
Or the human heart?
There is a criminal in the city,
A dreaded master thief,
Not afraid to hunt in the daylight,
Clad in black,
And with a scarlet cloth around his neck,
He creeps in brand new brogues.
Hunting house to house,
Man or woman,
Rich or poor,
Young or venerable,
Homeless or sheltered,
He cares not,
For he views all wealth as his own.
Payslips,
Bank accounts,
Wallets,
Hidden stashes,
They all belong to him,
For he is the master thief,
He owns the bank.
Where will you be at the end of the world?
When the sky is aflame,
When the very ground shatters,
When society is a distant memory,
When all the states of the world crumble,
When lives end aplenty.
Will you be with your families,
Comforting one another in your last moments?
Will you be be with companions,
Celebrating and dancing among the flame?
Will you be in the streets,
Flailing feebly at the falling sky?
Will you be praying,
Begging non-existent entities to save your wretched soul?
Will you be raiding,
Clinging on to notions of greed even as mankind expires?
Will you be fighting,
Attempting hopelessly to save your fellow doomed souls?
Me?
Where will i be?
I’ll be at the epicenter,
Arms outstretched,
As if doting on the devastation,
A great big grin on my face,
Watching as the world burns finally.
Waiting hysterically for the screams to stop.
All vestiges of understanding and sanity burning up.
Where will you be?
Beside me?
WorldofHarley 