Broke

Daily Poetry

A billion ideas, worth billions of dollars.
Plagued by the myriads of ideas,
visions of parallel universes of grand potential.
My mind is rich – but broken.

I stir in the night as my heart yearns for these things, immaterial.
As my bank account runs dry,
and my tattered wallet, a gutted ghoul.

Wealth robbed by white collars,
acceptable fraud in the eyes of the bribed regulators.
Stocks and bonds, and crypto,
my lake of salvation.

Forced to bleed it,
so I can buy another day.

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