Do I want to be swimming in money at seventy all alone? No.
Do I want to live in a house but not a home? No.
Do I want the label of marriage and live in an empty castle devoid of respect and emotions? No.

Money as an instrument of control, excessive opulence covering the blemishes of emotional abuse;
The extravagant veneer masking the emptiness of emotional betrayals.

All that castle of avarice will come tumbling down; time after time.
Because it is an illusion.
Life is not money and greed, neither are they bandages for a damaged, breathing soul.

That obnoxious smugness brought by power, fame and money;
It poisons chains of DNA with trauma.
The trauma that cannot be outrun, not outdone.

As a generation pattern breaker, you would think;
Going averse to power, money and fame would rid your DNA of the emotional void
And yet all the three keep chasing you; triggering the horrors of your abused ancestors.

Only if the fuel that ran this world was emotions - I would outrun the danger of becoming my ancestor.

Could money buy loyalty? Could power assure morality? Could money buy wisdom?

Only if the fuel that ran this world was emotions - I would outrun an economic abuser.

Only if the fuel that ran this world was emotions - we would not be approaching dystopia.

Money- the myopia, love - the hypermetropia;
Fame- the myopia, respect - the hypermetropia.
Co-dependency - the myopia, self-reliance -the hypermetropia.

That trauma driven hyper independence that refuses to be the ancestors;
That trauma driven obsession with self reliance eliminating the need of an abuser;
Only if the fuel that ran this world was emotions - we would not be approaching myopic dystopia.

If people lived through their souls, only then would they know the absurdity of money, power and fame; those vapors and dust - all redundant in cemeteries.

This world is the ostentatious macabre.
How does nature, the pristine; survive this horror?