(Greed on One End. Suffering on the Other. And a Whole World Caught in Between.)
Gold stacks high while the floor caves in,
Bellies stay empty where the vaults stay grinning.
Silk-sheet sleep while the streets stay cold,
Hands shake loose while a few grip gold.
We got yachts that float on borrowed air,
And tents pitched under billion-dollar glare.
Boardroom silence, hunger loud,
One man’s profit is a funeral shroud.
They say “work hard” like it’s magic dust,
Say “be patient” while the system combusts.
Clocks keep ticking, wages stay small,
Time gets taxed till there’s none at all.
Tell me how greed got a halo now,
Tell me how suffering learned to bow.
Tell me how “normal” got this extreme,
Tell me how reality split at the seam.
Kids learn math they’ll never use,
Adults count pills just to stay amused.
Rent climbs higher than hope can reach,
Dreams get repossessed mid-speech.
Overflow plates at invite-only galas,
Empty fridges hum broke mantras.
Stock lines rise, life lines fall,
One more bonus, one more wall.
They say “it’s complex” — translation: don’t ask,
Say “that’s the market” — a well-worn mask.
Say “that’s just life” like life chose sides,
Like suffering applied while greed qualified.
We got fences where bridges belong,
Mute buttons slapped on the survival song.
Truth gets trimmed till it fits a brand,
Pain gets blamed on the shaking hand.
Tell the tired they’re lazy,
Tell the broke they’re crazy,
Tell the hungry to hustle more,
Tell the rich “you earned the floor.”
We normalize stress like it’s oxygen,
Call burnout “drive,” call collapse “then.”
Call drowning “weak,” call hoarding “smart,”
Call losing your soul “playing your part.”
If this is balance, it’s bankrupt math,
If this is progress, it’s paved with wrath.
If this is freedom, explain the chains,
Explain the profits soaked in pain.
Because extremes don’t happen by mistake,
They’re engineered, polished, sealed, and baked.
You don’t get this gap by accident,
You get it by design — with intent.
So don’t tell me this is just how it goes,
Don’t sell me peace wrapped in corporate prose.
Don’t ask the bleeding to clap and comply,
While greed gets crowned and suffering tries.
The Whirld didn’t break — it was split on purpose,
One end bloated, one end worthless.
And the scream you hear in the rhyme I spit?
That’s reality refusing to sit.
Because when extremes get this obscene,
Silence isn’t calm —
It’s complicity.