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 my pompous creed? A creed called greed, a wondrous working glue. Wisdom weighs when battles of life I wage, Tall ideals alone would seldom woo, Fruits hanging and ready to reap must rage. With renounced heart were I to eat my bread, Fully detached from life’s unfolding plot— Dependent not even to blood cells red, I doubt, if I can fill my karmic pot. Amidst life’s scores of enticing lures laid, I’d struggle keeping vultures off my 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.