Surrounded by wealth
And extravagance
He sits in his castle
Never needing
But always wanting
While his brethren
Starve and scramble for life
He has more wealth
Than one man needs
Earned through work
And thought
Yet more he gathers
To fill his stash
That could solve a hundred problems
On nights he leaves
To hit the town
Indulging his own vanity
Buying shiny baubles
And the newest toys
Followed by the obsessed
And reveling in the lights
Yet he is not truly loved
By those that starve
And wish to take his place
He becomes a symbol
Of the enemy
As the world rots
And starves to death
Times are getting troubled
He refuses to aid
And risk a drop in wealth
He continues to rise
While his brethren fall
Pleading for help
And being denied
He earned his way
The system is his friend
It is not his fault
That he succeeded
Where others failed
A bevy of excuses
Of why he should not be a hero
What will the Great Hoarder do
When the system crumbles
When the wealth he has
Is no longer coveted
Becoming a worthless stash
Symbols of a dead regime
That placed a price on living
Legends of Windemere 
this is fantastic Charles… a lesson of ages past… an omen of things to come…
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Thanks. There are always going to be hoarders. Just the decision some people make.
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Eloquently put. 🙂
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Thank you. *takes a bow*
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The last stanza… amazing…. brings it all together. Well done Charles! 😉
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Thanks. I’m happy this one turned out so well.
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Pingback: The Great Hoarder | Legends of Windemere | Hey Sweetheart, Get Me Rewrite!
I just had this urge to go clean closets.
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I know what you mean. I had to straighten up and clean out a few places after writing that one.
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Wonderful poem, and subject…everybody knows at least one. This is like striking a chord on a piano or guitar, several strings ringing in unison. Love to send this to my aunt who has the ashes of my grandmother’s dog on the floorboards of her car, where they’ve been for years…and my uncle, who was diagnosed as mentally ill because he couldn’t stop talking about the money he was making, or had missed out on making.
Later…
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That’s sad about your uncle. I know some people that talk about the money they’re making as a sense of bragging and pride, but nothing to that extent.
You’re right that everyone knows one.
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Not just my uncle. There’s a syndrome for such people, that can’t stop talking about the bottom line. Weird world.
Later…
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It really is. Sounds like something that would plague Wall St brokers. That’s not a joke. I really do wonder if that’s the area that such a syndrome came out of.
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Love it a great poem…so fitting for our day…what will t(he)y do…interesting question.
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I really do wonder that. Thinking try to hold onto control for as long a they can. Some will adapt and others will fall. It’s oddly natural if one thinks about it.
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Yep…rather evolutionary actually!
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