"counterproductive" poems
So many elements
Make up this man
Let me open up
Show all that I am
Take a little insecurity
Fill these eyes with some tears
Take a little fear
Sew them into this skin
If I'm gonna show it all
I need to let you see everything
Open up this heart
Cut it in half
Let all the love bleed out
Just so they have no doubt
All I've got is yours too hold
Take these hands filled with hope
Come inside my mind
Where you'll see all these
Dreams on display
Sometimes this Imagination
Runs away
There is passion
There is inspiration
There is motivation
There is faith
Stitched into the fabric of my being
Strength and hope, open your eyes
And you will see
All these things make up you and me
Sprinkle some hurt
To fill the drive
There's a little hate hidden inside
Kept in the dark corners of our mind
But I choose love, that is where I side
Opinions could fly out from these lips
But that would be counterproductive
I'm just trying to be me
The best I can be
I'm just trying to see
A world in which I can exist
And be proud of all I've accomplished.
Take a little anxiety
A pinch of crazy
Pour a little jealousy
Over me
All these little things
With some humanization
That adds up to this creation
I'll walk this world
Arms wide open
You'll see every inch of me
Nothing to hide
No disguise
No agenda in my eyes
There is passion
There is inspiration
There is motivation
There is faith
Stitched into the fabric of my being
Strength and hope, open your eyes
And you will see
All these things make up you and me.
Sprinkle some hurt
To fill the drive
There's a little hate hidden inside
Kept in the dark corners of our mind
But I choose love, that is where I side
Opinions could fly out from these lips
But that would be counterproductive
I'm just trying to be me
The best I can be
I'm just trying to see
A world in which I can exist
And be proud of all I've accomplished.
Take a little self-control
Inject some humour into my soul
Drink down some bravery
Fill my warrior spirit
through a dance
Filled with fire
Fill these eyes with starlit skies
Feel power building inside
A determination to be great
Finding a way to new heights
Through freedom, Through flight
This is so raw, This is so real
You're inheriting all that I feel.
There is passion
There is inspiration
There is motivation
There is faith
Stitched into the fabric of my being
Strength and hope, open your eyes
And you will see
All these things make up you and me.
Sprinkle some hurt
To fill the drive
There's a little hate hidden inside
Kept in the dark corners of our mind
But I choose love, that is where I side
Opinions could fly out from these lips
But that would be counterproductive
I'm just trying to be me
The best I can be
I'm just trying to see
A world in which I can exist
And be proud of all I've accomplished.
Honesty soaks into my skin
Revealing truths
Layed out before your sights
And it comes as no surprise
All of these acts that take the stage
Are giving there all
No time for questioning
No time for dismay
Only came to display all it is they can be
With each opportunity that came there way
With belief in their talents shown
Audiences left with their minds blown
There is passion
There is inspiration
There is motivation
There is faith
Stitched into the fabric of my being
Strength and hope, open your eyes
And you will see
All these things make up you and me
Sprinkle some hurt
To fill the drive
There's a little hate hidden inside
Kept in the dark corners of our mind
But I choose love, that is where I side
Opinions could fly out from these lips
But that would be counterproductive
I'm just trying to be me
The best I can be
I'm just trying to see
A world in which I can exist
And be proud of all I've accomplished.
©2018 Written By Benji James
Dec 2, 2018
Dec 2, 2018 at 8:45 AM UTC
How come with all the brilliant thoroughbreds
That stand strong and ready at the starting gates
Those glorious, shiny coats gleaming in the sun
Do I keep on beating dead horses?
Instead of placing my bets on the alive and thriving?
Don't I want to finally engage in the race?
Don't I want to to keep my eyes on the winning prize?
For a dead and decaying horse,
With flies swarming about its lifeless carcass
Just ain't gonna move
Dead horse beating is a ludicrous hobby
It is more futile than leading a thirsty horse to water that just won't drink
That whip, in hand, just needs to be surrendered, put down on the ground
As well as finally releasing, letting go, on the pulling of those reins
So that horse can finally have a proper burial
Be finally laid to rest
In my dictionary
Dead horse (a noun) = people, places, or things of decay that should be out of your life
Dead horse beating (a verb) = from your thoughts to your actions, trying to revive a lost cause
Dead horse (synonoms) = bad relationships/friendships/acquaintances {that are of the morgue}
Anything that is counterproductive to your life
Sep 9, 2012
Sep 9, 2012 at 1:53 PM UTC
Your kind of loving, your kind of feelings
Your way of living, your way of thinking
Your thoughts are everywhere,
Your mind wanderers, your eyes lie
You held on to my every word
hundreds of words we uses daily
Without the physical action,
you say you love me
That doesn’t mean you love me
Because, you think it weaken me
We both use it, we both **** it
Your kind of loving, your kind of feelings
Your way of living, my way of thinking
Is what we reap is what we sow,
You **** your words, I bargain with myself
my words are counterproductive :
My kind of night, my kind of day
Productive, inquisitive and worthy
Your kind of night, unfilled and frustrated
Deep down you love her, she hates the aging you
somehow you still manage to love her
with all her imperfections,
you woke up at dawn, and make her oatmeal
and you serve her breakfast in bed with a dying rose
How idiotic, how clever, how fatuous
A good marriage is something you have to work at. It doesn’t drop from heaven
Oct 3, 2016
Oct 3, 2016 at 9:23 AM UTC
Counterproductive to hold to the truth
I’m no saner today than I was in my youth
Was it a tragic display that I somehow suppressed
A malfunctioning brain that caved under stress
When things get too quiet the siren I hear
Drowns out the sounds that aren't really there...
I often laugh when life deals me pain
In times like these I sense I’m deranged
But it might be the mechanism that allows me to cope
When the champion of mayhem has me pinned to the ropes
And the drunkenness of the driver, my pilot within
Can't seem to escape the stench of my sins...
The bludgeoned end of reason is hot on my case
Threatening to smash me back into place
It’s these catch-22s that torture my mind
I keep growing older suspended in time
Still my biggest fear is my hindsight going dim
And coming around to trust this world once again...
Jul 8, 2013
Jul 8, 2013 at 9:30 AM UTC
i remember meeting you in the back of house, where your words were loose and wild. i was brining some guests plates in that needed to be cleaned after their meal. i got to talking with some coworker about some
bull **** coworkers talk about, probably complaining about some old lady who wanted truffle fries and only got regular fries. you had to chime in when there was a cadence with some ********** comment to display your manliness and status amongst your kitchen staff. that game always seemed counterproductive to me. you pinned me for someone i wasn't. i did the same to you. somehow along the way, between all your lewd remarks, we became friends. i believe it began over our affinity for the Buffalo Bills. You said you liked them because they were the underdogs and you hated the Miami Dolphins. I told you they were my hometown team and you said "no **** get the **** outa here. You're from Buffalo?" the way you said it lead me to assume you were from New York. You told me you were from upstate and missed it. I told you how much time my family spent up there in the summers, doing outdoorsy things. burning fires, drinking beer underage, walking barefoot through the forrest. we bonded. we learned a lot more about each other. you were divorced and knew that you could never love another woman as much as you loved your ex. she gave you two beautiful kids. she also took 3/4 of you paycheck and left you for broke. the rest you drank away with me when our shifts were over. you told me about your drug habits, and i told you about mine. i told you about my childhood and you said you were sorry. i helped you drive your kids to school when your ex wife was too busy. we got drunk and shot so much **** there was a chip on your shoulder. there was a chip on mine too. i got to see you cry when i accused you of using again. i think you knew what i said was true. i came down on you hard because i had just lost two jobs, a girlfriend i thought would have my children, and someone that lived in your apartment complex crashed into my brand new car while i was waiting on you. we were on the way to get your kids from school. you knew i meant well but i could see the guilt in your eyes. i helped you with your kids a handful of times after that. we would get breakfast after and talk about work and women. after work we'd get ****** and eat at some small Mexican stand in 90 degree weather. i fell asleep at the wheel and totaled my car some time later. shortly after i left for tour and then you died. some secrets you take to the grave. thank you.
Feb 25, 2017
Feb 25, 2017 at 3:24 AM UTC
Anxiety is funny, if I’m going to be honest. Because you work so hard to not focus on whatever causes your anxiety that in the end, you’re really doing yourself a disservice. You end up focusing more on the anxiety- or it’s cause- that it’s counterproductive. And none of the tips you find online really help so you try to find your own methods, but let’s be honest. The only way it’s stops is if you have someone say “it’s okay”. And then you feel like you’re just annoying the person by having the same worries over and over and over again. So you, again, start trying to find your own methods. And again, you realize that it’s the outsider comfort that really helps. And then you start to feel helpless because you feel you’re becoming too dependent on the person, and you have no idea how long your anxiety is going to go on for.
And then, five minutes later, you calm down and think “what a silly thing to be worried about”. And that’s when you know you have a problem- because if it was something that warranted worry, it would start the cycle again.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 2:21 PM UTC
Give me a Sign
any sign will do
just give me a sign
and I'll do the rest;
It doesn't matter
if it's true or it's false,
it only matters if
it makes One give pause;
and reflect upon that
which One still haves
and what can be done
if only One knew;
what One already has learned
what One already has forgotten;
whence One is from
what One already has done
that One is some Body's Sun;
where One already has gone,
what One already has foregone,
what One already has to do
what One already has within;
there is no limit
but limits of Mind,
they are the boundaries
which inexorably confine
and restrict us to "us"
instead of "it all",
Mind is your gift and curse;
please don't make it your downfall.
Mind is a Tool.
Mind
Is
a Tool.
A Tool,
which sometimes works itself
in counterproductive ways;
it is only shameful when
you allow it to stray;
the only true Sin.
You are not your Mind;
You are not your Body
You are an Illusion of Mind,
the Pilot of Body.
Give them a Sign
any sign will do
just give them a sign
and they'll do the rest;
There are no limits
except our limits of Mind,
they are the boundaries
which inexorably confine
and restrict us to "us"
instead of "it all",
Mind is our gift and curse;
please, let's not make it our downfall.
Mind is our tool.
We are not our Minds;
We are not our Bodies
We are Illusions of Mind,
the Pilots of Bodies.
In that way,
true Illuminati
So,
Give us a Sign
any sign will do
just give us a sign
and we'll do the rest;
It doesn't matter
if it's true or it's false,
it only matters if
it makes us give pause.
It doesn't matter
what Sign it is
it only matters
if
We make it relevant.
We make it relevant.
Make it relevant.
Mind is a Tool;
Make it relevant
to you.
(Then, perhaps, you will be relevant to it.)
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 7:44 PM UTC
the art of war has been written
in our skin since the first day
we tasted air.
our bodies knew what to do
without instruction, the manual
was ingrained in our systems
before history was even a term.
we knew what struggling was and
the viciousness we'd follow to
feel satisfied within this
paper-hungry, corrupt involving,
power revolving circle of
soil and H2O.
green paper values beyond
human experience, holding its
own wealth above the truths
and acts of kindness.
we are lost now.
our journey to create solutions
and deflate violence, pollution,
and terrorism is counterproductive
when we are only trying to gain
access to fossil fuels,
advanced technology and
easy living.
the art of war is unavoidable with
its nuclear power reaching new
heights and alarming increases
in neighboring countries with
alternative motives.
people are not perfect, but yet
it is hard to use intelligence
towards innovated, structured
education and trying to revitalize
our dying environment or restoring
it to the way our ancestors knew it.
we are too curious now.
the devices we use daily are
hand held miniature and superficial
to honest thoughts even if you may
have the universe at your fingertips.
the art of war is within ourselves, with
the growing population of overweight
eight year olds - instead of gaining
knowledge about life by learning how
to use the imagination, creative
engineers are mass producing game
consoles and virtual worlds for the young
to push past the reality.
we want to be lost now.
society takes tragedies and sensationalizes
so there is just another portal to dig up
the fresh and uncover something bigger
than ourselves.
the art of war has been finalized with
456,495 troops estimated stationed overseas,
leaving at home their families.
our state of mind is grasping, like the hardworking
fathers in search for american made products,
yet can only find poor industry made objects
for $5.00 on the shelf of the local monopolized
superstore.
the art of war was born in us
with airtight top secret plans to defeat
another continent, but we all
swallow the voice to bring back
compassion for starving children and
focusing on the here and now.
the art of war is all around us,
the art we will never escape.
Jul 8, 2011
Jul 8, 2011 at 4:07 PM UTC
Ambition drove me to hell
Where I stood in the torrential downpour
Waiting for a hero of some sort
Maybe it would be him
Maybe it would be the sight of his license plate
Or the whiff of his cologne
Hopefully two abrupt hands covering my eyes
But no, I was alone in the rain
My laptop in my bag
Only to get wet, along with my copy of "The Sun Also Rises"
I had nowhere to go
No one to see
Or no one who wanted to see me
My family was away
My friends had all dispersed into cars full of life and spirit
And then I saw a friend
no
less than a friend
...someone I know?
I was stupid enough to go with her to a house rampant with drugs
Powder perfectly lined up
Broken up ****
Old prescription bottles
******* and marijuana and oxy and everything that feels like heaven but tastes like hell
FALSE
tastes like heaven but leads you to hell
**** my stupidity
So depressed that I couldn't make a simple decision
a decision so simple, all I had to say was "no"
Because stupidity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result, right?
Same result
Stupid because my actions are counterproductive to everything I work for
Endless hours of typing and reading and underlining words that were already highlighted
Stupid because I was selfish
selfish enough to only want to get high
and not think about the people around me
So stupid
it's laughable
FALSE
it's painful and terrible and everything I dont want YOU to feel
And I consumed the substance
that altered my mind into a kaleidoscopic whirlwind
Of blackness and white dots
one minute I was there...
the next I was home
and then a coffee shop
and then my house
My eyes were as glazed as a krispy kreme donut
excuse that deliciously disgusting simile
POuNDs of led were on my eyelids
and nothing mattered
until it did
until my HIgh became a lOW
until my mother walked into the room - - unexpected - - danger
until my mother said "you're gone"
until my mother cried because her brother was addicted to coke and her dad would shoot up on painkillers
until I was a reminder
it matters
I think it matters
I am the downpour
they say "When it rains, it pours"
and ****
it's been raining a lot
everyday theres another thunderstorm
literally and figuratively
just imagine
REALITY
who can riddle the thought of reality
not me
not me at all...
Oct 8, 2013
Oct 8, 2013 at 9:08 PM UTC
From experience,
I've realised that a
poem never changed anything.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 7:30 AM UTC
Self-Loathing
is counterproductive
even if you are right;
perhaps then especially so.
Seek always to improve thyself.
When you catch a glimpse of your Shadow,
do not run and hide behind a facade of more Shadow,
take the ******* initiative and integrate your Shadow.
You can never escape it; you'd best learn to live with it.
To ignore it is to amplify it,
to feed it is to be consumed.
To embrace it is to to be augmented.
The choice is yours.
May 7, 2013
May 7, 2013 at 11:59 PM UTC
Compton, New York
West side, East side
Nope.
Just a white girl from Mississippi,
Nah, it's not a joke.
My true self, my true words, my true pain.
The world shouldn't have to cope.
The world shouldn't have to think it's alone.
Cause I'm with you,
Oh, I'm with you.
All that hate that you own.
I used to feel some too, but the kind that you evoke?
All that racism that makes you choke.
I'm with you, but you don't have to cope.
Before you let counterproductive words slip from your mouth,
take a minute to think of me. Don't let our fight go South.
I will make a pact from my soul to yours,
I will not let them make racism into another "war".
Aug 28, 2014
Aug 28, 2014 at 10:10 PM UTC
A myth of spirits
Of flesh and belief
A world of great pain
And those who beg for relief
The naked the starving
Began to praise the sun
They feared it and loved it
They proclaimed it to be the one
This formula was genetic
Imprinted on the brain of every man
A timeless devotion
A naïve emotion as old as sand
Disputes, disagreements
Blind pledged allegiance and war
The body counts rise
As the worshipers die and what for?
So self-righteous believers
Can say they did right
Counterproductive destruction
And senseless fights
So let’s stop this nonsense now
At once
And believe in ourselves
And just be thankful for the sun
Do not depend you need not defend
Its exuberant light is fastened so tight in eternity and shall not come undone
It will not do for you
It can only provide you light
It allows you to look clearly
And decipher wrong from right
Although it’s subjective
And moral objectives are rarely the same
Let us rejoice and throw up our voice
For ourselves without remorse or shame
Mar 6, 2014
Mar 6, 2014 at 12:22 AM UTC
lullabies are counterproductive
do not bother to sing
for i will wake up,
and stay up-
to hear you finish the entire thing
Jun 1, 2019
Jun 1, 2019 at 12:27 AM UTC
we are on strike
today...
in a passive sort of way
we got to classes
but don't teach
the students come to classes
but don't learn....
some lectures have become
filmhalls
here in theatre....we are offering donuts and a big
bang marathon....
all to show a goverment
that placing a new pricing
scheme on higher education
is counterproductive....
but they are not interested
in our voice....we are but
cogs ...... they the machine.
May 20, 2014
May 20, 2014 at 11:16 PM UTC
Silence.
How peaceful
How innocent
Unsullied
Like velvet
Like a kiss.
********
Silence made pregnant
By the words biting at my lips
Bursting to escape my mouth
Barely contained by my clenched teeth.
Silence, while my mind screams
Deafening
Drowning out all other thought.
I am locked in a burning room.
No escape.
Were it physical, this fire would
Envelop me
Consume me
Destroy me.
Leaving only dust.
But instead it just keeps burning
Boiling away coherent thought
Leaving me raw
But whole.
On the outside.
Unscathed to the eyes of others.
Like a fist,
Strong.
Aggressive.
Defiant.
But filled with broken glass
Bleeding even as in desperation
It squeezes ever tighter.
What if I were to let go,
The shattered shards dropping
From my hand?
Like the flicking of a switch
The fire goes out.
Ice taking its place
Or perhaps not even that.
What if nothing took its place?
Emptiness. Blackness.
A vacuum.
An absence of feeling.
How would that be any better?
Such a counterproductive act of self-defence.
Unless it were out of my control?
Suppose I just wake up one day
A shadow
A shell?
A black hole contained within a person.
My capacity to feel
Nullified.
Emotions broken from overuse?
No.
I’d rather burn.
I’d rather bleed.
Than become numb:
Silence on the outside
Matched by silence on the inside.
7/1/12
© Bonnie C. Aspinwall 2012
Jun 3, 2013
Jun 3, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC
Oops, I edit
As I go,
I take a step
Then erase it.
It’s counterproductive,
Don’t I know,
But I see the flaw
Then I chase it.
It won’t go away
‘Til the mirror is shattered,
Whether or not
It actually matters.
So I’ll cut and I’ll add
I’ll rewrite, double back
Only hoping that you’ll
Love what’s left
In the end.
Mar 12, 2024
Mar 12, 2024 at 11:26 AM UTC
Push yourself too hard
And it becomes counterproductive.
From motivation
To deterioration.
From passion
To pain.
Maybe I'm planning my own downfall.
If this is it,
Just let me go already.
Jan 29, 2014
Jan 29, 2014 at 1:22 PM UTC
*there’s a motto,
treat a cat like a cat,
when a cat ***** in your bed
smack him over the head for him to learn
and...
gentlemen never drink in the morning.*
the last motto can be changed to:
gentlemen never drink in the morning
unless they take the remnants of the whiskey
with coffee... now you’re talking irish gentlemen,
or perhaps northern irish, because that’s
where the english ***** bank was established...
that great big sandpit known as lough neagh
(that's ulster... or ulcer?).
blake was wrong... there are more ***** tadpoles
in every *********** over the years than there
are grains of sand on the seasides and stars in the universe...
it would be counterproductive otherwise.
i’m not going to be one of those repentant drunks
who suddenly find poetry or prose
lacerating myself on ‘oh poo poo poo’ memories
and how one can become a respectable citizen via newspaper publishing,
**** that, **** you, eminem gave me all the clues;
swearing? taking oaths? it's called punctuation in połlish.
come on celt... let's tango!
Oct 27, 2015
Oct 27, 2015 at 7:05 AM UTC
A slip of the foot morphed into
an excruciating plummet into a void.
Before YOU know it, everyone else does
and you're bandaged up and tucked in bed
You've snowballed. It was out of your hands.
The word "Inpatient" echoes in your head
and you can't help but wonder:
"What did my parents say?"
There you are, still disoriented.
You're prospected expectations have
naturally become an escalated reality.
Now you're flooded with more
Diag-Nonsese and counterproductive
There-Rape-me spouts and handouts.
I didn't go down the road this time,
so how did I get here? Oh yes,
the ultimate phrase indeed "It's going to
get better, you just have to be patient."
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 3:49 AM UTC
I strike a match
Light the fire
Not-
to watch the world burn
Rather-
to finally feel some warmth.
I play in the ashes
Footprints left behind
Not-
to get somewhere important
Rather-
to leave something I'll be remembered by
I say my prayers
Before I sleep
Not-
to get any sort of help
Rather-
to make the world a better place
May 6, 2013
May 6, 2013 at 9:16 PM UTC
Disdain is developing for these boxes
Where interaction is eased but distanced and disconnected
Losing context and adding overthought
The to and fro becomes unhealthy in its uneven pacing, where our own little bubbles manifest in useless and counterproductive day dreams
This text technology isn't without its merits, if we need someone we can get hold of them quickly, if we need information we are well supplied
But for some, or.. to be frank, for me, the information overload is deconstructing my confidence and pressurising my sense of self
A battle I fight against with fresh air, exercise and my continued relationship with pleasure
As well as the projects and positions that I pursue, the passions and paychecks, an effort about to hit full force now I'm graduating into the hostile capitalist way of things
I worry what this overdose of gratification does to me, but those that aren't self conscious of themselves under the techno-pressure worry me more
Because they are caught, fulfilled by a mundane medium that the screens provide, some adding the taste of green to exacerbate their passivity
While their lives aren't my problem, I feel for idiots, and count myself among them to whatever extent
Again I am reminded though, as my words spread naturally and find intellectual soil to dig down towards
As confident as I am of my optimism and the direction it describes
I am so very ******* fallable, and these screens and trying to connect with people through them is a process that doesn't quite seem right
That's not to say I won't be surrounded by the deceptive ******* tomorrow, in that mundane medium of 'social' existence
But it'll be the boxes of text that bug my sense of tangibility
and the efforts to shake off the cabin fever that will be most rewarding
These moans culminate in that simple little appreciation of those old norms
That no matter how incredibly interconnected our technology allows us to be
Those piles of text are a poor ******* substitute for the eye contact and the smile
So make sure you go out and find some
Jun 14, 2014
Jun 14, 2014 at 7:30 PM UTC
It's far easier to hate than forgive, can't give myself a break when the case study's retrospective
I hate that it's easier to die than to live, pull up just shy and see it all fall in and out of perspective
To be here, right here, year after year is the objective but the inner chatter from my dark passenger is persuasive
Life escapes through each back stab wound like a fleshy sieve, how much can one individual give
Just meaningless crumbs aren't attractive, I'm a no good, very bad human representative
So primitive, the smooth brain collective not selective enough to be proactive instead of reactive
The crazies run the nut house and the clubs exclusive, drunk off two fifths, the front doors elusive
I'm no detective, I just hope my karma is something I can outlive
Dark thoughts are combative, my own mind is abusive, held captive with no clear motive
The rush from anger becomes addictive even when self destructive
The me I want to be has lost all adhesive and every step towards a concept that moves forward feels counterproductive
From my perspective I should embrace the paradox, go back in time and hand my mom a contraceptive
I'd rather not exist than to be a relative to this bloodline that feels radioactive
But what's the alternative, trading one mess for another is gonna get repetitive
And every time, the byproduct gets more carossive, the rust forms a husk that falls away exposing the explosive
One that goes off erratically 'cause real change isn't a newspaper, or soothsayer, real help is expensive
Hand me that sedative, this repetitive narrative is too intensive, Lucifer's obsessive and I, compulsive
Destructive to a fault and so one sided I'm not even competitive
A cognitive function nowhere near adaptive, straight to punishment, bypassing corrective
Leaving me to always be on the defensive but that alone will fail to be effective
At least for the collection of the negative that is a bigger percentage of the me that's reflective
One of a fugitive on the run from my formative years, all the hardwired fears still active
Each with a different authoritative directive and all for the worse, who the hell's even driving this locomotive?
My words sound figurative, at least enough to label it an overactive imagination, so creative
But it's imperative that this is looked at as informative, a documentary type narrative
CAUSE I SWEAR IT IS
©2023
May 9, 2023
May 9, 2023 at 6:38 PM UTC
5 pennies in a nickel…
10 pennies in a dime…
25 pennies in a quarter…
100 pennies in a dollar…
Each penny plays a particular part in
the grand scheme of economic "advancement"
Money is exchanged.
It comes…
It goes…
Some people see its worth,
while others don’t.
It makes people happy,
But then again,
It only brings sadness at the same time.
It's counterproductive.
Over the counter, at the minimum wage shopping center,
Minimal glances are changed,
For minimal durations…
Each penny is a part of a whole…
There’s a price to be paid…
It moves into the hands of another.
Feb 26, 2018
Feb 26, 2018 at 12:50 AM UTC
By: Cedric McClester
The law applies to all
So when the mighty fall
Just like the rest of us - y’all
They hear the clarion call
When asked - Oh yes indeed!
They do regret their greed
So no matter their misdeed
For leniency they plead
And let’s keep it real
Cuz they’re not made of steel
They’d like to cut a deal
Found guilty they’ll appeal
And baby I’m not lyin’
By accident or design
Without them even tryin’
They’re lookin’ at big time
When they’re cut down to size
It makes you realize
They fall quicker than they rise
Right before our eyes
Past actions sealed their fate
But it’s no cause to celebrate
Cuz they got crushed under the weight
And they learned that lesson late
So you ask for the deductive?
It should serve to be instructive
Not at all counterproductive
How greed can be seductive
Although they celluloid it
By all means just avoid it
There’s no need to Sigmund Freud it
Just because they once enjoyed it
Cedric McClester, Copyright © 2015. All rights reserved.
Dec 1, 2015
Dec 1, 2015 at 4:44 AM UTC