Greed is great glue

What if fruitless should grow a goodly deed, A pleasant song is tuned with poignant lilt, A buoyant theme, on notes of bathos' built, If so, how long would last man’s pompous creed? A creed called greed, a wondrous working glue. Wisdom weighs when battles of life we wage, Tall ideals alone would seldom woo, Fruits hanging and ready to reap must rage. With renounced heart were one to eat my bread, Fully detached from life’s unfolding plot— Dependent not even to blood cells red, I doubt, if man can fill his karmic pot. Amidst life’s scores of enticing lures laid, He’d struggle keeping vultures off his head. ________________________________________ Sonnets | 02.04.2009, revised Jan 2024| lilting Poet’s note: He that wants the least is the wealthiest man in world. This is fine as philosophy. However, one feels a bit uncomfortable. Without a little bit of self, working as glue, greed that governs, man perhaps, far from any progress, would have still been dwelling in a cave.