Currency of Compassion

Throughout the history of humanity
conscious coveting with eyes, insanity
anxious and eager to grasp with empty hands
a void in the beating heart, deviant plans
rash, thoughtless takers of a world marching on
loud voices troll the abominating song.

Confusion and greed found, pushing those around
steel striking a hot anvil, the primate sound
monetary designs for the flesh now wrought
spirit becoming faded, people distraught
lies were loosed as if arrows from a taut bow
not knowing where the strike or the mark would go.

Sick sapiens swearing to currency bound
taking all coin and folding paper they found
kept more than what is logically needed
divide masses, who have it and who seek it
sweat with poly pockets full of currency
their hearts and minds in a state of urgency.

And what of those some who hold little to none
never cared for money, no currency sum
did they whisper, ponder a possible way
to sum up their lives through compassionate days
not through the promises of written down notes
not by selfishly speaking truth or misquotes.

Stop filling pockets with cold matter and weight
to spread compassion is of a warming trait
too many holes for greed and twisted wisdom
failing, is the monetary based system
no heavy guilt or weight will seek this fashion
intangible, currency of compassion.

Can the measure of one’s simple existence
on scales weighed by compassion and relevance
through time the coin loses its affinity
no longer whispers of false divinity
reach out to thy brother and sister, humane
share the currency of compassion campaign.

 

The Unhomed

Unknown faces staring through swift, obscure rain
emanating all grief, most unbearable pain
parting from the heat and bright tropical rays
howling chill winds blow ushering darkening days.

Shunned from society, outcast and unclean
almost invisible, oiled humane machine
what is death when materials are beneath
purpose tempered compassion, nothing to bequeath.

Cramping muscles with hardened thighs are to ache
poor shelter amongst cold air, summons to awake
lefty, righty, low right, pace forward motion
circulating blood heating through a dark ocean.

Loss of loved family once sweet now turned sour
reaping mortality’s swift sickle and power
wandering through grey concrete jungles of man
the unhomed, dispossessed and bereft, once began.

 

Heath Alderman is a poet living in Florida.

Featured Image: “Die Andacht des Grossvaters” by Albert Anker (1831-1910)

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