Best Poems About / On GREED
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317.
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Revolving Debit - Cul-de-Sac Acrostic Sonnet
Restrictions flourish, few attain true aim.
Energies mischannelled, modern man
Victim of his greed no longer can
Options clear identify. Most blame
Lifes treadmill limits, - thoughtless, partial claim.
Vice stifles virtue, leaves truth also-ran.
Is Man Times puppet stringed? The minutes fan,
Nor heed his need, whose greed feeds final flame,
Growth self-destructive, rushes blind and lame
Down cul-de-sac climactic for no plan
Exists to feed the homeless. Few dare scan
Between lifes lines which with their fate play games.
Is AIDS a part of some predestined scheme
To right mankinds abuse of its own dream?
Jonathan ROBIN
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318.
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Reality of you...
The heart is of such fragile make
in wants and love it has no refrain
the head can temper, but only so
and can do nothing really to stop the pain
the pain of hearing you just wont do
I've decided that part of my life is through
and picket fence and man all I need
but your my friend, despite your greed
your greed of wanting me for a love
even if you try your best
and hold my image close to your heart
Its time to realize you were never a part
a part of what I wanted in life
your love was nothing more than a vice
and I turn away at last to that
and walk the straight road, your heart my doormat.
natasha headstrong
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319.
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Ants
No tragedy has ever rocked the world for long
Six million tortured, fired, gassed, are gone
And we go on
Two cities twined in shadowless death, pain, snow
So black, long legacy burning in bone
And on we go
The Earth turns
The anthill churns
So God is cleaved and myriad-cleaved til Hydra-head
Is forced to self-contention in false stead
Of lust and greed
War, corruption, rot, decay defile the Bust
Of History, shroud its eyes that turned, at first,
From greed and lust
The Zeppelin does its trick and pyres
The garland at the mountain peak, once plane
Tornadoes, earthquakes, hotel fires,
The auto wreck, it all comes out the same
The trapeze breaks, hushed fall, so long...
The morning comes, we wake up, backside lame
From craning bleacher-bound so long
The heart sighs, mind shrugs, off to work, stay sane
What excuse can ever be
An answer for mortality
The gape, the stare, what livelessness
We imitate, what witlessness,
What bullring hope, what three-ring thrill
That quicks to see a heart stone still
The Earth turns
The anthill churns
D A Phinney
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320.
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Isolated Crimes Of Passionate Lies.
From whence we come, from whence we came...
Knows not any failured mis-spent shame.
Who so-ever spins the web, regards all failed, b'neath darkened,
isolated tribes...
Many evil men describes many lies and deceites filtered through lies and unexscused bribes.
Greed a-plenty rains on man...
Enabling the greedy souls to scam while on the lam.
From whence we come, from whence we came...
Men not troubled of souls well wicked, proceeds unobstructed while
instilling self shame.
From whence we came, from whence we come...
Greed only amounts to the accumilated, dishonest, outcomed sum.
Michael Gale
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