Dreams are distant as the stars
when we only wish to ride in flashy cars
Our castles built with the stones of endless gain
Suffices not just an arid desert’s spell of rain
Desire steers the ship to the harbour
of concrete splendour and glassy grandeur
The heart is stilled by the drill of will
with swords unsheathed for the kill
The flags and trumpets that ambition bids
The poetry of the soul that avarice rids
Passions’ gems are a worthy treasure
But overkill is civilisation’s bushfire
The clock is wound and time is thin
for those who live recklessly in sin
But beauty is in the poor man’s sleep
who thinks no greed and duty keeps
montes-musings.blog 