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He has conferred on the practice of vacillation the aura of statesmanship.

quote by Kenneth Baker
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Practice Every Step

Practice every step.
Do not second guess what it takes.
Practice every step.
Practice every step.

There's no sleeping for someone who has a place to go,
So...
Practice every step.
Practice every step.

Focus on that goal,
And tighten on your hold,
And...
Practice every step.
Practice every step.

Practice every step.
Do not second guess what it takes.
Practice every step.
Practice every step.

Every journey taken,
Must be thought of as a race...
And,
Practice every step.
Practice every step.

There's no other way to straighten out a crooked road,
So...
Practice every step.
Practice every step.

No matter what you're told,
There will be some doubts and woes...
But you,
Practice every step.
Yes you,
Practice every step.

Woes you hold will eventually go,
So...
Practice every step.
Practice every step.
Practice every step.
Practice every step.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Aura Of Being

LIKE A RADIATING AURA,
MY WHOLE BEING GLOWS OUTWARDLY,
WITH THE BURNING PASSION FOR TRUTH,
LIKE THE FIRE OF MY BEING,
MY AURA GLOWS,
YES, I WILL EXHALE WITH RELIEF,
WHEN THIS FEELING BEGETS ANOTHER,
THE AURA OF MY BEING IS ME,
I AM ME, YES I AM ME,
A SOVEREIGN BEING THAT LOVES TO LOVE AND HATES TO HATE,
THE AURA OF MY BEING IS ME,
MY PASSION FOR TRUTH,
MY LOVE FOR INTEGRITY,
YES IN THE AURA OF MY BEING, I BASK,
I WILL SING MY SONGS WITH JOY,
I WILL CRY MY TEARS ALONE,
I WILL FEEL MY PAINS ALONE,
I WILL BEAR MY SORROWS ALONE,
WHY? MY BEING IS MY AURA,
MY AURA IS MY BEING,
I AM A BEING RADIATING WITH THE AURA OF REGALITY.
MY AURA IS MY INTEGRITY.
THE AURA OF THE TIGER, PROTECTS THE TIGER.

poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
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The Auric School

Oh dear, it is as I feared, I scanned Aura Energy, feeling no synergy
with the well-meaning author as he orated on the magnificence of the
aura's appearance, colours connected to numerology, there he lost
me totally, writing of tentacles and auric vampirism

He explained how to fix the aura in order to cleanse an emotional system, but I shook my head, if emotional states cause the aura to
fracture, dis-colour and become nebulous or change from iridescent
to dark grey, I would prefer to work on the mental aspect instead
of approaching trees

And using the moon and stars' influence to release their magic on
the broken aura, crystal-waving like pendulums seems to be too
bohemian, if I could have invested these procedures with hope and
belief, they would probably work for me too - but starting by
trying to visualise the aura is too much

Using physical sensors meant to perceive the material world to
focus on an immaterial entity like the aura simply makes no
sense to me, I'm glad Joe Slate and his acolytes are successful
in repairing auras no-one but they can see - and thus heal
people from suffering

But I'm doomed to invest my belief in systems I have visualised
as a child and proved successful after concentration on the
imagery - anything would do and if I had been brought up in
the auric school, I probably would have had success in using
this to change reality, now too late to change my fate… 

poem by Margaret Alice Second
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力 Aura of Felicity 爱

He meets by chance he'll ever bless
a maiden, and some hidden hand
unveils an inner loveliness
too few take time to understand.
Time stands stock still, clock can't progress,
as second sight's embracing strand
second-thoughts disbands - caress
sends shivers through pores which expand.

His promise, through her presence, grows
to match the merits in her eyes,
to blushing envy turns the rose
acknowledging true Paradise.
They flow together, former woes -
in ways no verse may summarize -
replaced by links which cannot close
metamorphosis supplies.

Thought trains awake dreams skeins asleep,
her aura haunts him day and night,
one image still will senses sweep
with wonder, worship, and delight.
Warm aura rippling, rich and deep,
excites, incites to more insight,
love's neurones bridge synaptic leap
like salmon fording stream, scales bright.

Drawn by strong dreams nightlong he longs,
most humble where he most aspires,
to offer sacred, secret songs
to her he honours and desires
where 'we belong' may know no wrongs,
all echoes joy's celestial choirs,
where happiness itself prolongs,
no guarantees, no pleas requires.

Her graces make him rich. He'd ask
no golden ring engraven while
he may not prove himself to task
the equal of that precious smile.
Meanwhile would pleasure find and bask
in soft reflection, reconcile
hopes, fears, fears, hopes, and, shedding mask,
beguiled by feelings versatile.

He aims to catch flame's eye, perform
some labour, famed reward immense,
anticipates ways to transform
bright bloom in new-born innocence
to future shared, trust crystal clear.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Get Your Spirit Right

Practice.
Active,
Prayer...
Everyday,
You can!

Be active in the practice,
Of prayer...
Everyday.
You can!

Care less about the he said,
Or she said...
Conflicting pickers of fights.
They'll keep you awake with sleepless nights.

Be true to your practice,
In active...
Prayer,
Everyday.
You can!

Erratic tactics,
Keep captive...
With distractions,
To minimize your pride.

Don't worry about their appetites...
For doing things the wrong way.
You stay on the side of what's right,
Now!

Practice.
Active,
Prayer...
Everyday,
You can!

Be active in the practice,
With swift actions of your prayers...
Everyday.
You can!

Get your spirit right!
Let backbiters do what they do.
You can choose not to approve!

Just keep your practice,
Active...
In prayer,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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One Night At A Time

Im not yours and baby youre not mine
Weve got somethin and it sure is fine
Lets take our love one night at a time
Theres one thing that we both agree
I like you and baby you like me
Lets take our love one night at a time
All night, love all night, practice makes perfect,
Gonna get it right, gonna get it right, one night at a time
All night, love all night, practice makes perfect,
Gonna get it right, gonna get it right, one night at a time
Oh I think about you all day long
It feels so good it cant be wrong
Ive got my fingers crossed that this goes on and on
Tomorrow, well, thats another day,
Come on baby, now what do you say
Lets take our love one night at a time
All night, love all night, practice makes perfect,
Gonna get it right, gonna get it right, one night at a time
(instrumental break)
Oh I think about you all day long
It feels so good it cant be wrong,
Ive got my fingers crossed that this goes on and on
All night, love all night, practice makes perfect, gonna get it right
Gonna get it right, one night at a time
All night, love all night, practice makes perfect,
Gonna get it right, gonna get it right, one night at a time
All night, love all night, practice makes perfect,
Gonna get it right, gonna get it right, one night at a time

song performed by George Strait
Added by Lucian Velea
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An Aura about the Sun

There is an aura about the sun
On this late winter's day as
Snow falls from castles in the sky-
Invisible clouds shall not obliterate the sun-
In my most startled moment,
I would look down from
My stance upon a purple mountain peak-
Purple transforms to magenta as
A ray of hope shines
Downward and mysteriously about-
I see reflections of copper- hued branches in the creek below-
Upon trees seemingly awakening from a passionate night amidst the darkness-
In the bitter coldness of the season's end-
Branches so like arms reaching towards the sky-
Decorated with snow and bending in the wind as
Would ballerina dancers upon a stage of oblivion-
Not knowing what the next moment in time shall bring?
There is an aura about the sun and
The snow keeps falling-
Crocuses trying to hide their blossoms from the late winter's chill-
Yesterday the sun rose and cast its shadows about the mountainsides-
Purple mountains and magenta reflections in the creek in all of its
Crystalline clarity have never looked so striking
Even stones polished by rushing water rapids- and grasses sparkle in the dew-
I have found my place in this world so vast, and so majestic- yet so ethereal,
Alone with the trees and nowhere to hide-
No need to hide because I have escaped reality-
In the real world mountains have never been purple-hued and
Reflections never magenta-crocuses never emerge and blossom on
A cold winder's twilight-
There is an aura about the sun and I listen to the voices
Chanting baritone melodies inside the fortress of my mind-
Others may say that this is none but a delusion, although
I do not recognize their disparagement -
I have lost myself in a world of fearlessness and
I find nothing intimidating in this land of my dreams-
It has been said that dreams often never come true but
I have carried my dreams inside of my mind to the peak of
Purple mountains glowing beneath the moon at midnight and
The sun as it rises at daybreak- nobody shall unlock the door to my madness
My dream has come true and I shall never escape-
I have painted a picture inside of my mind and here in my solitude
I have escaped the pain of veracity as
I chant my own special melodies, though in silence.
There is an aura about the sun and I am proud to say it shines light
Upon the essence of my dreams, illuminating a path before me
Upon which I can walk -I can walk further and further from all that threatens-
Where there is no place to hide and no need to hide
As the snow keeps falling from invisible clouds and
Fantasy has never appeared so magnificently regal….

poem by Claudia Krizay
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Aura

If aura can numb the senses,
The tactic can be used for offenses,
Stand beside the human we desire,
Loan, loot and love can be ours.

If aura can numb one's own senses,
How can they feel the pleasures?
Aura is the radiation of heat
from anything that can burn and blaze.

Photograph of aura seems to reveal,
Mindset of one, who pose with no metal,
Rainbow colors are there with additional hues,
White and yellow for the saints and spiritualists,
who do not burn much for worldly pleasure,
running to hurt another heart to get gratified.

poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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2010/07/08 Opalescent

I like covering my notebooks with interesting paper
now I know why – because I want it to resemble my
idea of a positive aura, my clothes have the same
function, this is why I cried when Linah destroyed
my purple top

Today I found the perfect paper to create my aura, I
am not pure enough for a clear golden light, but purple
with pink and silver and yellow and white, with patterns
of butterflies, is just the right combination to entice me
to a special aura

If I could sew I would have created these covers from
shimmering fabrics to make them long-lasting, I would
have made bohemian dresses in purple, dark blue and
white with silver sparkles - I went to the craft shop to
stare at shiny ribbons

To decide on the perfect aura, I am in a purple-and-pink-
shining highlights phase, always finished with silver sparkles
to create the effect of iridescent reflection, I love clarity and
golden sunbeams, snowdrops with an opalescent sheen - I
wish I could dress according to my

Auric dreams – but wings would do just fine, I am sure the
halo around heads is the nimbus represented in
old-fashioned portraits of saints…

poem by Margaret Alice
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Charles Vacquerie

Il ne sera pas dit que ce jeune homme, ô deuil !
Se sera de ses mains ouvert l'affreux cercueil
Où séjourne l'ombre abhorrée,
Hélas ! et qu'il aura lui-même dans la mort
De ses jours généreux, encor pleins jusqu'au bord,
Renversé la coupe dorée,

Et que sa mère, pâle et perdant la raison,
Aura vu rapporter au seuil de sa maison,
Sous un suaire aux plis funèbres,
Ce fils, naguère encor pareil au jour qui naît,
Maintenant blème et froid, tel que la mort venait
De le faire pour les ténèbres ;

Il ne sera pas dit qu'il sera mort ainsi,
Qu'il aura, coeur profond et par l'amour saisi,
Donné sa vie à ma colombe,
Et qu'il l'aura suivie au lieu morne et voilé,
Sans que la voix du père à genoux ait parlé
A cet âme dans cette tombe !

En présence de tant d'amour et de vertu,
Il ne sera pas dit que je me serai tu,
Moi qu'attendent les maux sans nombre !
Que je n'aurai point mis sur sa bière un flambeau,
Et que je n'aurai pas devant son noir tombeau
Fait asseoir une strophe sombre !

N'ayant pu la sauver, il a voulu mourir.
Sois béni, toi qui, jeune, à l'âge où vient s'offrir
L'espérance joyeuse encore,
Pouvant rester, survivre, épuiser tes printemps,
Ayant devant les yeux l'azur de tes vingt ans
Et le sourire de l'aurore,

A tout ce que promet la jeunesse, aux plaisirs,
Aux nouvelles amours, aux oublieux désirs
Par qui toute peine est bannie,
A l'avenir, trésor des jours à peine éclos,
A la vie, au soleil, préféras sous les flots
L'étreinte de cette agonie !

Oh ! quelle sombre joie à cet être charmant
De se voir embrassée au suprême moment,
Par ton doux désespoir fidèle !
La pauvre âme a souri dans l'angoisse, en sentant
A travers l'eau sinistre et l'effroyable instant
Que tu t'en venais avec elle !

Leurs âmes se parlaient sous les vagues rumeurs.

[...] Read more

poem by Victor Hugo
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The Spooniad

[The late Mr. Jonathan Swift Somers, laureate of Spoon River, planned The Spooniad as an epic in twenty-four books, but unfortunately did not live to complete even the first book. The fragment was found among his papers by William Marion Reedy and was for the first time published in Reedy's Mirror of December 18th, 1914.]

Of John Cabanis' wrath and of the strife
Of hostile parties, and his dire defeat
Who led the common people in the cause
Of freedom for Spoon River, and the fall
Of Rhodes' bank that brought unnumbered woes
And loss to many, with engendered hate
That flamed into the torch in Anarch hands
To burn the court-house, on whose blackened wreck
A fairer temple rose and Progress stood --
Sing, muse, that lit the Chian's face with smiles,
Who saw the ant-like Greeks and Trojans crawl
About Scamander, over walls, pursued
Or else pursuing, and the funeral pyres
And sacred hecatombs, and first because
Of Helen who with Paris fled to Troy
As soul-mate; and the wrath of Peleus' son,
Decreed to lose Chryseis, lovely spoil
Of war, and dearest concubine.
Say first,
Thou son of night, called Momus, from whose eyes
No secret hides, and Thalia, smiling one,
What bred 'twixt Thomas Rhodes and John Cabanis
The deadly strife? His daughter Flossie, she,
Returning from her wandering with a troop
Of strolling players, walked the village streets,
Her bracelets tinkling and with sparkling rings
And words of serpent wisdom and a smile
Of cunning in her eyes. Then Thomas Rhodes,
Who ruled the church and ruled the bank as well,
Made known his disapproval of the maid;
And all Spoon River whispered and the eyes
Of all the church frowned on her, till she knew
They feared her and condemned.
But them to flout
She gave a dance to viols and to flutes,
Brought from Peoria, and many youths,
But lately made regenerate through the prayers
Of zealous preachers and of earnest souls,
Danced merrily, and sought her in the dance,
Who wore a dress so low of neck that eyes
Down straying might survey the snowy swale
Till it was lost in whiteness.
With the dance
The village changed to merriment from gloom.
The milliner, Mrs. Williams, could not fill
Her orders for new hats, and every seamstress
Plied busy needles making gowns; old trunks

[...] Read more

poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Statesmanship is harder than politics. Politics is the art of getting along with people, whereas statesmanship is the art of getting along with politicians.

quote by Fletcher Knebel
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Lessons Of Love

(s. garrett/g. ballard)
See the children play
Listen to the things they say
One-on-one to one another
Theyre just having fun
Finding out it can be done
They dont seperate by cover
Ooh, young hearts
Facing to feel it so naturally
And the flower grows from the seed and
Chorus:
Practice makes perfect and we tryin enough
And were bound to be learning
The lessons of love
Coz were never too old and never too young
To be teaching each other the lessons of love
Got some work to do
Theres so much we can improve
Piece by piece we come together, yeah
In the neighborhood
I know we can make it good
But weve got to make it better
Oh woh oh, inside each of us has a romelody
But weve got to find our harmony
Practice makes perfect and we tryin rnough
And weve got to remember
The lessons of love
Coz were never too old and never too young
To be teaching each other the lessons of love
Bridge:
Imagine how this world could be
If all of us would live in peace
Nothing good comes easily
Together starts with you and me
Yeah, oh yeah, aha
Lessons of love
Practice makes perfect and we tryin enough
And were bound to be learning
The lessons of love
Coz were never too old and never too young
To be teaching each other
Practice makes perfect and we tryin enough
And weve got to remember
The lessons of love
Coz were never too old and never too young
To be teaching each other the lessons of love
Practice makes perfect, try it enough
(oh, never too young, aha)
And weve got to be learning
The lessons of love (lessons of love)

[...] Read more

song performed by Lea Salonga
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Sparks the Jade Aura

bottled ourselves for other to learn, push the
limit of your entity, make it bright to see, any
time the aura belongs to you will shine; like a
golden Buddha, and no one have ever had find
the meaning of enlighten aura of wisdom for
free

sailor sail on, the rough sea, still is on; and the
Poseidon of the ancient sea lives together to
lean on, as if the rushing wave faces the seashore
to dash and calm no more, for my heart always
looks the distance fate I may be alone

glamorize the abandon wall, the grass has been
growing, the backyard tree lives freely and the
garden of flower flourish like huge orchard of
Daffodils in your return

laments all your joy, molded like jewels in the high
seas, for the sailor always find the Lighthouse in
the ocean of jade in your heart that is lucky, stay
always of what is the inside and be blessed with
for your safety

moment comes infinite to find your fate, touch the
scented candle of faith for you to glow in the
wisdom of jaded aura of everlasting glory with
God ……

your God’s instrument, go on …….

poem by Antonio Liao
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Hieroglyphic Beguile Meant

HIEROGLYPHIC BEGUILE...MEANT

I sought inspiring way to play “beguile”
blood's flood rush-blushing flush, then hibernate,
lush, hid ‘mid hieroglyphics of soft smile.
It dawned that very few can reconcile
emotions' brakes while breaking conscious state,
to draw more definitions for “beguile”.
Most, blind behind closed minds, can’t conjugate
dimensions manifold, unfold, translate,
decypher hieroglyphics of soft smile.

It takes so many lifetimes to compile
right signals light, bright eyes communicate
decoding definitions for “beguile”
into word worlds both varied, versatile,
deep, difficult to truly contemplate -
expanding hieroglyphics of soft smile.
Content observing content, context, style,
expressive inner eyes deliberate,
a worthwhile definition for “beguile”,
hidden in hieroglyphics of soft smile.

There are two definitions for “beguile”
one shares, one snares love, fair disguising hate -
what’s truth mid hieroglyphics of Your smile?
What if snare scare replaced rare care to dial
confusion more than loving fusion’s state,
refusal, ersatz aura ringed by rile?
What if those hieroglyphics hid heart vile,
whose slyness surface smiles would compensate
with blushing rushes should “beguile” prove guile.

What would remain of love’s fair sceptered isle?
Who could clear conscience e’er exonerate
from name of blame whose fame would flame defile,
mark Lethe dark, where no stark hopes beguile
lost soul, shade forfeit, damned, banned, intestate
parody pornographic, mercantile.

True torment, false beguilement takes to trial,
ensures despair, bare cell disconsolate,
Cupid's gilt arrows dipped in venom vile -
envy, greed, to feed perversions' weight
with appetites that needs exaggerate,
deform, intentions turned from narrow, straight,
to swift descent from paradise exile,
sharp fall before dupe hieroglyphic smile! ...

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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Ossian’s Grave

PREHISTORIC MONUMENT NEAR CUSHENDALL
IN ANTRIM
Steep up in Lubitavish townland stands
A ring of great stones like fangs, the shafts of the stones
Grown up with thousands of years of gradual turf,
The fangs of the stones still biting skyward; and hard
Against the stone ring, the oblong enclosure
Of an old grave guarded with erect slabs; gray rocks
Backed by broken thorn-trees, over the gorge of Glenaan;
It is called Ossian's Grave. Ossian rests high then,
Haughtily alone.
If there were any fame or burial or monument
For me to envy,
Warrior and poet they should be yours and yours.
For this is the pure fame, not caged in a poem,
Fabulous, a glory untroubled with works, a name in the north
Like a mountain in the mist, like Aura
Heavy with heather and the dark gray rocks, or Trostan
Dark purple in the cloud: happier than what the wings
And imperfections of work hover like vultures
Above the carcass.
I also make a remembered name;
And I shall return home to the granite stones
On my cliff over the greatest ocean
To be blind ashes under the butts of the stones:
As you here under the fanged limestone columns
Are said to lie, over the narrow north straits
Toward Scotland, and the quick-tempered Moyle. But written
reminders
Will blot for too long a year the bare sunlight
Above my rock lair, heavy black birds
Over the field and the blood of the lost battle.
Oh but we lived splendidly
In the brief light of day
Who now twist in our graves.
You in the guard of the fanged
Erect stones; and the man-slayer
Shane O'Neill dreams yonder at Cushendun
Crushed under his cairn;
And Hugh McQuillan under his cairn
By his lost field in the bog on Aura;
And I a foreigner, one who has come to the country of the dead
Before I was called,
To eat the bitter dust of my ancestors;
And thousands on tens of thousands in the thronged earth
Under the rotting freestone tablets
At the bases of broken round towers;
And the great Connaught queen on her mountain-summit
The high cloud hoods, it creeps through the eyes of the cairn,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Ecco Mormorar L'onde (Now The Waves Murmur)

Ecco mormorar l'onde,
E tremolar le fronde
A l'aura mattutina, e gli arboscelli,
E sovra i verdi rami i vaghi augelli
Cantar soavemente,
E rider l'Oriente;
Ecco già l'alba appare,
E si specchia nel mare,
E rasserena il cielo,
E le campagne imperla il dolce gelo,
E gli alti monti indora:
O bella e vaga Aurora,
L'aura è tua messaggera, e tu de l'aura
Ch'ogni arso cor ristaura.

Translation:

Now the waves murmur
And the boughs and the shrubs tremble
in the morning breeze,
And on the green branches the pleasant birds
Sing softly
And the east smiles;
Now dawn already appears
And mirrors herself in the sea,
And makes the sky serene,
And the gentle frost impearls the fields
And gilds the high mountains:
O beautiful and gracious Aurora,
The breeze is your messenger, and you the breeze's
Which revives each burnt-out heart.

poem by Torquato Tasso
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(Falling Today) As Less Smart

A word reminds me why I feel so less than strong
Struggle as I feel I can't stand up ever so tall
A way leaves me feeling much less bolder
Yet I know that I'll never be like a Casanova

A time denies these stages
Deciding that it's best that I begin to cry from afar
But for now your aura continues to be colourful
Now falling today as less smart

A memory shows me each of all of your old lies
For that's the way you are and leaving me feeling further blind
A way shows I dunno who to even be
A word shows that you're not sure who to be

A time denies these stages
Deciding that it's best that I begin to cry from afar
But for now your aura continues to be colourful
Now falling today as less smart

For I have been left feeling furthermore so dumber
Got nothing to clutch
A way it happens so easily to me as it happens often as such

A time denies these stages
Deciding that it's best that I begin to cry from afar
But for now your aura continues to be colourful
Now falling today as less smart

Nah, nah, nah, nah
Nah, nah, nah, nah
Nah, nah, nah, nah

Today as less smart

Nah, nah, nah, nah
Nah, nah, nah, nah
Nah, nah, nah, nah

poem by Rich Downes
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The Princess Betrothed To The King Of Garba

WHAT various ways in which a thing is told
Some truth abuse, while others fiction hold;
In stories we invention may admit;
But diff'rent 'tis with what historick writ;
Posterity demands that truth should then
Inspire relation, and direct the pen.

ALACIEL'S story's of another kind,
And I've a little altered it, you'll find;
Faults some may see, and others disbelieve;
'Tis all the same:--'twill never make me grieve;
Alaciel's mem'ry, it is very clear,
Can scarcely by it lose; there's naught to fear.
Two facts important I have kept in view,
In which the author fully I pursue;
The one--no less than eight the belle possessed,
Before a husband's sight her eyes had blessed;
The other is, the prince she was to wed
Ne'er seemed to heed this trespass on his bed,
But thought, perhaps, the beauty she had got
Would prove to any one a happy lot.

HOWE'ER this fair, amid adventures dire,
More sufferings shared than malice could desire;
Though eight times, doubtless, she exchanged her knight
No proof, that she her spouse was led to slight;
'Twas gratitude, compassion, or good will;
The dread of worse;--she'd truly had her fill;
Excuses just, to vindicate her fame,
Who, spite of troubles, fanned the monarch's flame:
Of eight the relict, still a maid received ;--
Apparently, the prince her pure believed;
For, though at times we may be duped in this,
Yet, after such a number--strange to miss!
And I submit to those who've passed the scene,
If they, to my opinion, do not lean.

THE king of Alexandria, Zarus named,
A daughter had, who all his fondness claimed,
A star divine Alaciel shone around,
The charms of beauty's queen were in her found;
With soul celestial, gracious, good, and kind,
And all-accomplished, all-complying mind.

THE, rumour of her worth spread far and wide,
The king of Garba asked her for his bride,
And Mamolin (the sov'reign of the spot,)
To other princes had a pref'rence got.

THE fair, howe'er, already felt the smart

[...] Read more

poem by La Fontaine
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Power Conferred By Money

It is a fact that human beings cannot live without money
People go to work everyday because of money
The more money we have the greater the influence
The more influence we have the greater the control
The more control we have the greater the power
Therefore with lots of money, we acquire power
We classify some people as rich, affluent and prosperous
This is because they have lots and lots of money
By the way - what is this power conferred by money?
In other words - how powerful is money?
Several people agree that money is everything
Lack of money can lead to divorce
Labour unions will go on strike for money
Political campaign is doomed without money
Businesses close down when they have no money
Consultants sell their services for money
Without money we cannot acquire any property
In some countries, access to superior medical services
Is not possible if you do not have lots of money
Also in a number of societies, the caliber of education
You can have depends on how wealthy your parents are
To have money power is to have authority
Oh! Money, what are we going to do without you?
Many believe that money talks everywhere
Whoever has more money makes the loudest noise
The power conferred by money turn few people
To be labeled as the movers and shakers
Does this mean that the poor have less power?
Take a closer look at the society in general
The answer is everywhere and in all places

poem by Julius Babarinsa
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