There Will Never Be Enough

The money we look at and see as green,

Tear it to pieces and it'll bleed red.

Threaded, interwoven fibers of cotton and linen -

They are shaped into tiny little rectangles,

Tacitly treacherous,

Tattooed with numbers and letters.

The all-seeing eye is there too,

Topping the pyramid,

Though I question if it's really God's.

Their arsenal, frightfully full of evil skill sets,

Terrifying in magnitude,

The likes of which include but aren't limited to

The fervid sponging up of the blood

Thieved from the bodies of human lives.

They have always been among us,

Those who consider themselves above the rest,

Thinking that moral turpitude is their birthright -

The working class their playthings and sacrificial lambs.

The morally corrupt birthed an industry of vicious cycles in the world

To perpetuate schisms of us versus them.

They ponder not whether to feel guilt or shame for what they do.

The difference between right and wrong?

Trivial matters to the monsters mentioned just above.

They have more important things to do.

Time is money and such is the backbone of their industries

Thriving on the success of the wicked

Thanks to the downfall of morals and all good things.

They praise themselves and serve themselves yet they ask for more -

Taste buds writhing, gluttonous always for more, more, and still more -

Though enough will never be enough.

To satiate, no, there will never be enough.

The world can be theirs or at least what's left of it.

Their dying breath and their epitaphs will be "more".

The root of all evil,

The color of all evil,

The shape of all evil -

To what ends is it worth

The end of all?