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Em May 2016
I spend my love on you
like pennies tossed into empty fountains of youth -
like loose change loyally saved,
built up in a piggy bank,
a compilation of broken promises you never made
becoming blood clots in my lungs.
I would say they're in my heart
but I can't breathe when I see her.
Tax season is over and my savings continue
to drain -
they sit at your doorstep
waiting to be cashed in
for what I thought was an investment
but has become a liquidation of my entire being.
Empty wallets haven't caught wind of my addiction,
but the pennies on the ground talk.
Found heads down, I give them a voice,
and they, too, drown with the rest.
I think it's time I stop tossing change and you start seizing the day.
*I'm not sure of this title - grateful for any suggestions.
Sethnicity Sep 2015
Looks like smiles and hugs
and current seas for eternity,
I will cover the spread
and her head
The price of her education hard knocks
and maturation
When fully flowered before spring
and ticking timebomb within
Eyes on boys wandering from books
Broken everything and lasers for looks
Her currency never grows thin
Paid in full again and again
If only the world knew what
Made it spin
Looks like smiles and hugs
Refill my wallet *****.
for my Daughter in Step.
Dr Zik Apr 2015
Heart cannot be purchased
As currency is matter of no use
Only one can succeed
Who deals in barter system!
Dr Zik's poems
B Dec 2014
Favorites, Reposts, Comments:
Currency of the cacophonous conumdrum carried onward in carnivals of catatonic cherubims trading virtual cadence for confidence and compliments.
To be read in your meanest rapper tone, ha
Klaus Baumgarten Aug 2014
For sustenance we trudge on
Just to sustain
This callus equilibrium of fragile crystals
swaying in the wind, falling constantly
Employing the cleverest techniques of fleeting upward momentum
Short-lived displays of affection bleeding the small offering received at birth
endlessly replayed to our children's eyes
Despondent indentured servants scribbling through skin and tendons
Just to feed their families the rice they can no longer grow
And sending these fairy tales to the rosy-cheeked offspring of their oppressor's store bought dreams
To keep the oppression alive .
To operate at peak efficiency.
To transfer honest muscle through wire mesh.
And fatten.
And enfeeble
Enforce the prerequisites to match the scale's testimony.
Testify! Oh, Lord. We thank you for this meal stolen from our inferiors.
Please Please Please.
We demand pleasure. IT IS REQUIRED.
For if we feel sadness, then we have failed.
And we'll lay down what we don't have space in our engorged bellies for.
It will be placed, with all due honors, to our greatest shrine.
Where we are honest with our real Mother.
Where the proud, twicely worn, footwear of our warrior-spiritless cows rests
Where erections limp as collapsed towers, respected by false jihads, sleep.
Where dream's plastic refusal composts never; nourishing nothing.
Where potential is pure impotence.
The bed we all share.

— The End —