Big Rowan Ackison (greensh) wrote,
Big Rowan Ackison
greensh

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Currency of Hate

The poem / lyrics "Currency of Hate" was inspired by the power I see behind division and derision. Careers are built. Dynasties are established and thrive beyond their time. All you need is a hook and a villain. Anything less is a recipe for political failure. The end game is the challenge. Hate is all about short-term returns, with the bill due in the end too high to pay.


Currency of Hate
Poem for Day 197 – 20150716

We have our stash and so do they.
Separation makes each richer.
Interest is accrued with passing days,
measured in equal disregard of humanity.
You may wonder what this wealth is.
I'll tell you the sad truth,
it is the currency of hate,
surest investment in this day and age.

Bankroll the campaign with full coffers,
doling out the encouragement to the faithful.
They'll work for what we have to give,
bought disdain for a fellow man.
In for a penny, in for a pound,
chasing the dollar is all we know.
To put down the sword will not do
when discord pays the best dividends.

Currency of hate is legal tender.
The bank is open for all men alike,
there's always more so spend freely
so step on up and get your slice.

Matching contributions you have to make,
dollar for dollar plus interest paid
as you do battle with lesser men
for the glory of the righteous cause.
See that interest compile daily
as grudge begets grudge in fine reply.
Eye for an eye is a fair return,
bankroll increased as blood pours.

First blood is the deposit made
by the upcoming consumers of rage.
Anoint the future warrior,
open the account in their name.
A rich inheritance we'll pass on
to generations not yet vested.
The family business must continue,
a good feud never put to waste.

Currency of hate is legal tender.
The bank is open for all men alike,
there's always more so spend freely
so step on up and get your slice.

We'll cash in the roll one fine day,
paint the town red to celebrate.
Fire and blood will be our mark
as chips are paid from karma's bank.
In the end it will all be spent,
accounts drained of hard earned pay.
Legal tender exhausted with our demise,
with no one left to cash the checks.

Currency of hate is legal tender.
The bank is open for all men alike,
but what good are these angry funds
when no one is left to cash the checks?
To cash the checks,
the bloody checks.

© 2015, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved.
Tags: currency, hate, poem
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