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We are but perpetual donkey's chasing a carrot
on an invisible rod
suspended from our collar.
Oh how I love that mighty dollar.

In my pocket, in my bank
I love the way money stinks!
Credit unions deep in debt
I haven’t lost my bitcoin yet..

Invisible credit shall suffice
like you the bank robs me
most every night..
So....
Buy some silver, buy some gold,
buy some land before you fold..

The love of money
can be a hell of a load..
Traveler 🧳 Tim

My real nest egg is my good health!
Ylzm Jul 2020
Prayer is like a lottery ticket, but better;
For it's free, but for a mere price of promises:
for eternal gratitude and such — albeit you lie —
you asked freely for prizes: of millions, love, or power

To whom it may concern: the wind, the devil,
the great unknown, whomever, it matters not.
For you have heard and believed it happened;
And only fools will not cry out for more, freely given.

And anyone and everyone can pray, for you —
Each by his own formulation and his own magic.
Chances far improved by numbers and better art.
For the price of asking, artless you too have hope.

But true prayer is not asking, for you have without asking,
And only to be amazed at the depth and wisdom of Love.
Nigdaw Jul 2020
you always buy a ticket
got to be in it to win it
life is a lottery
a game of chance loss or gain
betting on a horse that’s lame
always loaded to the dealer’s hand

wake up
wake up

from the dream
tomorrow is another day
because you see it that way
the moment is now
never before lived
the place may be familiar
but take in the landscape

forgive yourself the pain
bad decisions flawed refrain
your future is here and now
step through the door
take a bow
Mark Toney Mar 2020
Fear
of
flying—
facing fear
he boarded the plane
which some minutes after takeoff
violently shook and then plummeted toward earth—
him being sad, not over his impending death, but having just won the lottery



© 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
2/29/2020 - Poetry form: Fibonacci - The number of syllables in each line must equal the sum of the syllables in the two previous lines resulting in  0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21... which is the fibonacci sequence.  The last line of 21 syllables in this poem appears as more than one line because of Hellopoetry's space restrictions and also on mobile devices and smaller screens.  Ah, the Romanesque broccoli spirals of the fibonacci sequence! - © 2020 by Mark Toney. All rights reserved.
Randy Johnson Jan 2020
It was the worst thing that ever happened to me.
My life went straight to Hell because of the lottery.
I got $100,000,000 when I won the Powerball.
But after just two years, I'm broke, I lost it all.
I bought expensive cars, mansions and a yacht.
I went broke partly because of the things I bought.
I also had family and friends begging at my door.
Two years ago I was rich, but now I'm dirt poor.
When it came to my money, I should've been tight.
But I was generous, I handed out money left and right.
I gave $250,000 to my church but ended up being sorry.
The preacher used my donation to buy himself a Ferrari.
I shouldn't have chosen to get my money in one lump sum.
Now I'm living in a cardboard box because I'm a ***.
I also lost money because the Government made me pay tax.
I wanted to go after those Government Officials with an ax.
The Government took the money and I told them where to stick it.
If you want to avoid being in my shoes, stop buying lottery tickets.
Brooke P Nov 2019
You feel like
a scratch-off lottery ticket
that I accidentally won;
received as a belated birthday gift,
or bought impulsively at a gas station near the thruway.
I don't think the powers that be
intended to send you to me
but lo and behold,
you’re the winner
that I’ve waited too long to discover.
Dream Fisher Jul 2019
A hundred marbles in dish,
A chance of fate to question with.
Fifty red and fifty white,
Fifty for my death and fifty for my life.
I close my eyes and extend my hand to reach,
My fingers brush the glass of each.
Afraid to look at either outcome,
If I see white, I breath for them.
If I see red, they agree with me, this is the end.

With sweat forming at my brow,
Three. Two. One. I open them now
It's red like crimson, red like birth.
Read like the paper that spoke my worth.
The rope behind was tied,
My fate was made as was mind.
It's time.

Thirty seconds I hung,
Thirty's seconds the rope did snap.
Questioning why they put me back
I guess lotteries play games like that.
Inspired by Duma Key by Stephen King
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