They loved the smell of money.
And displaying affectations of success.
Making impressions had been a wished they desired.
With a stepping on backs after backstabbing them,
Positions they achieved had them believing they arrived.
To eventually find themselves crying inside.
And false pride kept to address,
Left them depressed, unhappy...
With a profound surrounding of emptiness.
And the day would come when all that they had possessed,
Could not sustain to maintain...
What it was they thought had been achieved.
They loved the smell of money.
But the smell of it alone,
Does not come to attract those preferring to condone...
A quality of life to live without displays of affectations.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem