The speed of the sound of clinking coins

The sanctuary of serenity,
disrupted!
not leaving a single shred of time for peace,
the race for mere survival rushes on.
The fast lost in meaning,
and the slow too slow to have time to question.
while the race furiously resumes.
who really wins then?!?

.

Drops of metal sharp

piercing through the paper green;

shredding its oppression

along with the value in oppression,

yet none have the courage that does defice,

to actually do so.

.

The speed of a clink,

bouncing off the floor,

turning heads and rising envy,

so that the greenery of the paper is seen within the eyes of civilians.

What will become of a soul lost in greenery;

wandering the forests unkind,

who savours greenery at an unhealthy level.

What will become...nothing...

...

He will live a life high in value,

yet totally worthless,

seconds.

hours.....

days...........

Weeks...............

YEARS..........................

Nothing will happen;everything shall be in order...

While the hand continues to tick,

and ticking on it shall...

Slowing with each tick...

The seconds pass by one by one...

Nothing will happen...

Ticking goes the hourglass,

of a hundred years ago...

.

The sound of dropping coins so sweet