Writing

Hollow Happiness


Rich Man

While away my hours in the lap of indulgence,
Surrounded by silk so soft and exotic ornaments,
Bed of green paper and I’m plastered in gold,
Carpets of gems and riches untold,
Inside, this heart is still the same,
Blood, tissues,spirit so plain,
No depth, just false peace and joy,
What’s the point of all this wealth?
When the soul of us remains destroyed,
Ignored, forgotten, not given time,
We lose ourselves with every mile,
And every penny that we earn and boast,
Ego and pride makes us pay the cost,
Family, ties and love remain,
Buried in our greed and our games,
As we go on, everything we lose,
Purity or paper, you have to choose.

Money can’t buy happiness, cliche, but truer than true. Spirit and wisdom are the real wealth, hard as it is to follow given that our world today is so money centric. 

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