Contemplate capturing currency,

Chasing it like creatures chaotically like it was an emergency.

When your funds fill fellows’ fingers,

Exiting your own, making you one of the malingers.

Hunting, seeking, and listening for the hiding.

The hiding money, you’re having trouble finding.

You listen to stories of other making it rich.

Pouncing on opportunities, opened occasionally by the tearing of stitch.

Stiches that keep your life orderly but can provide fortuity when torn.

Continue seeking they say, even if it breaks your body, making it worn.

So you pass your time waiting, wanting, wondering,

Process pictures and philosophies while pondering.   

Dreams,

The thoughtful, transactions flow as tantalizing streams.

Cursing, and consuming one in unconscious thought.

Did you anticipate this anxious asylum you brought?

Anticipate this metastasizing ulcer, causing clot?

Realize, or reach realization of the unrealistic riches you sought?

The lust of money, dilates.

Dilates your empty eyes, and constricting states.

States, and status of you and others.

Decrepit we become as people, friends and lonely lovers.

Money is often the answer, it is the key.

It is supposed to make mean men happy.

Not lonely or lost.

Decrepit or fill hearts with frost.

As you realize the money lied you started to despise.

Despise the misfortune of wealth and its lies.

On this journey though, a man ended up all alone,

Individually isolated inside of home.

Where a fierce fire flailed in its place.

It burned his heart and showed on face.

His eyes endured the rooms’ beauty,

Which was ugly and served no duty.

One picture on the wall though was different than the rest.

It was bland and battered, but it was the best.

It danced against the wall as the fire would blow.

Patting and rattling to and fro.

The picture caught an ember and crackled goodbye.

The man screamed as though he were going to die.

For that was his last memento of his wife and kin.

The death of them is what caused his lust to begin.

He now had money and he had fame.

He only had dead people to blame.

The dead people that had made him happy,

And the thoughts of them continue to make him happy.

He had finally realized his family had brought him happiness.

And his family didn’t care if he was the wealthiest,

And he didn’t care he was the wealthiest,

Because it had caused him to be the loneliest.

It has the ability to cause us all to become the loneliest,

Stripping our lives of passion, people, and more simply our happiness.