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Iska 4d
Days flit by
like a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


As If watching a leaky faucet
In a plugged sink
The drops are slow to build
Weighted down by their own mass
As they reach a point where gravity
can no longer be surpassed,
To a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


As they fall into the basin
scattering ripples
And splattering droplets
As they fall
Gathering light in a glittering bowl
As the next drop slowly begins to flow
By the
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


But once you’re attention is pulled
And the visual is no longer there
Only a sound heard
Consistent tempo filling the air
Seeming to speed
where eyes can’t see
And the budding drops
fall carelessly
With a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


before you know it the basin is filled
With the drops cascading
beyond ones will
And the ripples now
scatter to waves against the brim
Caving to gravities endless whim
As a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


Once you notice, it’s far too late
The marble is shimmering
with streams and ponds
As it tallies the fee of water wasted
So too does time slip from the basin
And the coins we pay
exchanged with age
To a
Drip
Drip
Drip
Drop


Before you know it
time has come to a stop
along with both
the drip
and the drop
Safana Dec 2024
*In the year of twenty twenty-five,
Pi Coin’s journey comes alive.
From mobile screens to blockchain’s might,
A new dawn breaks, shining bright.

Pioneers from near and far,
Gather 'round, beneath the star.
With wallets ready, hearts alight,
They celebrate this wondrous night.

Mining Pi was once a dream,
Now it’s real, a flowing stream.
Transactions swift, secure, and free,
A decentralized economy.

From nodes and codes, a network strong,
Pi Coin’s future can’t go wrong.
Empowering people, far and wide,
With every transaction, a sense of pride.

So here’s to Pi, in twenty twenty-five,
A symbol of hope, a digital drive.
As we embrace this new frontier,
Pi Coin’s promise is crystal clear.*

Now
Night flees in darkness,
     day sleeps. Now knocks on my door
             shall I say "come in?"
Time is the only luxury and relevant currency. It's the key to life.
Omarcito Feb 2021
Powered matter leaves their origin,
Into a land in the distance,
Residing in the hearts of children
Offering everything but resistance,
Exchanging life and his riches
For the taste of blood in their kisses.

A child is a sacrifice
For what is right
In the prophet’s eyes
And minds that are blind
To the lies that bind
His cries and surmise-s.
The prophet’s prophecy
Is to gain profit from gases
More flammable that propane.
His fingers, crossed and lost,
His veins, lost its blue,
His skin, has turns chartreuse
With the sight of the new moon.

A new dawn begins
With the same sun,
Covered by new clouds.
Sounds of the innocent,
Muffled by the lead they’re
Buried in.
Their fears of growth
Disappear with their sight.
But it’s alright,
It’s in the name of Liberty,
Currency, and Democracy.
byron Johnson jr Oct 2020
Moving along in life looking at all the different stalls
I wonder how much it all costs
If I could ever have it all
What about one smile?
What about an extra mile?
What about a first love?
What about the longest hug?
I wonder if I will ever have enough
Everything is so expensive
I only have so little left
Will it really be worth it?
What if It was a waste?
Something I could never get back
I must spend it though
Every little bit must be accounted for in the end
This precious currency
Nothing attained with it can be returned
All sales are final
Let’s buy this one smile
Just one
Oops
Looks like it was upside down.
Ylzm Jul 2019
a shell, a rock, valueless
token of exchange
Cain's creation, perhaps,
impelled by hunger and his mark

today a non attributable lie
a picture of true faith
- but the sword still stands -
speaks more truth than any word can

deeper its insidious roots grow
for the greater its seeming efficacy
displacing the currency of love
for my enemies love me as themselves

but the lie is true
gnawing from the inside out
from nations, to businesses, to people,
a soulless heartless ******* remains

by the sword you live, by the sword you die
Colm Feb 2019
Waiting for a silver dollar
Cold and true
In a world full of plastic cards untrue
A rarity I know
Abigail Rose Jan 2019
Memorize poetry—
Wonder what you did that for—
Time is currency.
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