Money
Money
Money
Important
Useful
Necessary
Money
Money
Money
Wealthy
Middle
Poverty
Money
Money
Money
Save
Give
Spend
Money
Money
Borrow
Lend
Money
Money
Foe
Friend
Money
Money
Master
Slave
Money
Money
Satisfied
Crave
Money
Money
Laugh
Cry
Money
Money
Live
Die
Money
Money
Sick
Well
Money
Money
Heaven
Hell
by
howard s
Money we all know is a medium of exchange
Buyers and sellers relate to each other through money
The question here is – what is the value of money?
Few say money is the root of all evil
Many say money is the root of prosperity
And how valuable is money
Almost everything is measured by money
People go to work everyday because of money
Wealth of individuals is measured by money
All purchases and transactions are made by money
Every country has a name for its own money
The importance of some countries
In based on the value of their money
What is the value of money?
The rise and fall of foreign exchange
Is used to measure the value of money
Success to many is also measured by money
Corporate positions are measured by money
There are some people who marry for money
What is the value of money?
To many, money is everything
You cannot get many things done without money
Many have pondered and contemplated to ask
Can human beings live without money?
Then, how shall we determine and decide
The prices of individuals and materials
Differences between the rich and the poor
Are calculated in monetary terms
The power bestowed by money
Seems bigger than imagined
Animal flesh and fish flesh
are the forbidden fruit of murder….
murder of the innocent, the powerless,
the voiceless, the ‘last, the lost, the least’.
by
Me I did it
But it wasn’t on purpose
It was an accident
I call it self-defense
Others call it…… MURDER
I shot him dead in the head
Now he lays blood surrounding
his head all over my bed
I call it self-defense
Others call it…..MURDER
Me, I did it
But you dont see
The pain he endured
on poor little ol’ me
The harsh words, the
sexual abuse, and all
in between
He had it coming for him
dont you see?
I call it self-defense
Others call it…..MURDER
Me, I did it
But hear me out
I was minding my own
business til he came in
the house
There he started yelling, cussing
and throwing things around
That’s when he slapped me to
the ground
I call it self-defense
Others call it….MURDER
Me, I did it
But not intentionally
He forced this horrible
thing upon me
As I lay in my room
dreamig dreams
I hear this man breathing
all on me
I look up and see his eyes
Following the curves from
breast down to my thighs
I call it self-defense
Others call it…….MURDER
Me, I did it
But only because fear
took ahold of me
For that moment he was
raping me
The pain made me cry
And when he was done
it felt like I wanted to die
When he got off top of me
with a smile on his face and
a twinkle in his eye he
He tried to kiss me but I
wouldnt let him
With anger in his eye he
punched me in the face
No more would he punch
me cause I grabbed that
gun and before he could
punch me twicw
POW!
I call it self-defense
Others call it……MURDER
Me, I did it
But the choice is up to you
Do you believe it was self-defense
or do you think it was murder too?
by
Alexis Brown
He would declare and could himself believe
That the birds there in all the garden round
From having heard the daylong voice of Eve
Had added to their own an oversound,
Her tone of meaning but without the words.
Admittedly an eloquence so soft
Could only have had an influence on birds
When call or laughter carried it aloft.
Be that as may be, she was in their song.
Moreover her voice upon their voices crossed
Had now persisted in the woods so long
That probably it never would be lost.
Never again would birds’ song be the same.
And to do that to birds was why she came.
by
” The song and the silence in the heart,
That in part are prophecies, and in part
Are longings wild and vain.
And the voice of that fitful song
Sings on, and is never still:
“A boy’s will is the wind’s will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts.”
by
H.Longfellow
The bee is not afraid of me,
I know the butterfly;
The pretty people in the woods
Receive me cordially.
The brooks laugh louder when I come,
The breezes madder play.
Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists?
Wherefore, O summer’s day?
by
New feet within my garden go,
New fingers stir the sod;
A troubadour upon the elm
Betrays the solitude.
New children play upon the green,
New weary sleep below;
And still the pensive spring returns,
And still the punctual snow!
by
I heard the trailing garments of the Night
Sweep through her marble halls!
I saw her sable skirts all fringed with light
From the celestial walls!
I felt her presence, by its spell of might,
Stoop o’er me from above;
The calm, majestic presence of the Night,
As of the one I love.
I heard the sounds of sorrow and delight,
The manifold, soft chimes,
That fill the haunted chambers of the Night
Like some old poet’s rhymes.
From the cool cisterns of the midnight air
My spirit drank repose;
The fountain of perpetual peace flows there,–
From those deep cisterns flows.
O holy Night! from thee I learn to bear
What man has borne before!
Thou layest thy finger on the lips of Care,
And they complain no more.
Peace! Peace! Orestes-like I breathe this prayer!
Descend with broad-winged flight,
The welcome, the thrice-prayed for, the most fair,
The best-beloved Night!
by
Henry Longfellow
Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightning they Do not go gentle into that good night. Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night. Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light. And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. by Dylan Thomas