All the money in the world,
Can't heal your pain,
You're torn apart,
You are alone,
In a world made of stone.
No angel can hear your prayers,
Your ghost in misery,
Remembering those vast riches,
Your pain remaining,
With each shopping purchase.
You cry every night in your bed,
You want to silence,
The voices in your head,
But you're trapped here,
You are in a prison of money.
All the riches don't mean anything,
No diamond ring can ease your day,
People taunting with devil faces,
People jealous of your money,
Foolishly wanting to trade places.
Your money is a temptation,
But there is no warmth in your world,
There is only jewellery and watches,
Even bedtime cold,
After your lover leaves.
You yearn for more,
But real wealth is not money:
Real wealth can be found in your heart,
Those riches are inside you,
But you need to learn to open your heart,
And no longer be a cactus.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem