Baronhawk's Nest

Green is your colour,
"green" is your name,
green are the eyes,
which beheld your fame.

Rectangular pieces,
cut-out paper,
all soiled with ink,
and the stink of sin.

Yet, we seek you out,
yes, and even I,
these weightless tokens,
that weighs more than gold!

We don't eat you,
we don't drink you,
We certainly do not breathe you,
and yet we crave you more than life itself.

We fight for you,
struggle with you,
wish for you,
kill and die for you.

Why? An oft asked question,
an enigma to many minds,
the cause and claimant,
to many deaths and of many lives.

What secret,
behind you textured surface lies,
of diagrammed designs,
and sinister gleams.

I can only ask,
and beg your answer,
for you as always,
would and shall remain... cold, frail, indifferent.

Immune to censure,
inured to blame,
silent to the ears,
but torrential to the heart.

Perhaps I should ask,
the great John Maynard Keynes,
or the market voices,
to whom thou art tied and weaned.

But I should as well,
give birth to golden eggs,
for the answer would and always be,
take more than you would need.

You are the "fragrant grease",
"the stuff of life",
both the God and Children of men,
the big GREEN, hallelujah the G-R-E-E-N!

What?
Why?
No matter!
I am just gonna go and get me some...
and more and more.