False Florin

Forsake thine golden idol:
The coveted coin that turns both sheep and lambs from the true way.
For of the shepherd it has made a wolf,
And of his flock, obedience to a mortal “salvation”.

How woefully blind they must seem to passing travellers:
Bound in rapture by woollen fetters and boasting self-made chains with souls that sag-
-Full of Pride, Envy and Avarice:
Three burning coals that have set all hearts on fire.

To Dante, that raging fire lay buried deep beneath the Earth - A thought that offered fleeting repose to the sinner.
But now great cities also burn like torches,
Fed by mountains of paper bills that ignite their masters’ hearts with unquenchable desire.
To these sheep, the grand lustre of false florin flickers irresistibly against those passionate flames of mortal trinity:
Three smouldering coals that have set all hearts on fire.
Beneath their obfuscating smoke, seeing Inferno for Empyrean.

Yet I hear no chirp of dawn chorus, I know only of its fabled song that wakes men from delusion.
Shut out to lend our ears to a more pleasing euphony?
Or drowned out by a choir in a song of black flame,
Reaching crescendo on an anthem: Ode To Coin.

If music be the food of love, of hate, of joy, of sorrow, of great opposites and dualities,
If its coloured words may bleach men’s eyes black and white,
Then play no more.
If songs of passion can raze great truths and raise yet greater legends,
Perhaps only the sober elegy, the calming of the senses, can cool blinding zeal.

To look modern man cold in the eye and speak plain:
Memento Mori
Perhaps, those two words might cause him to shudder,
To loosen his tight grip on that bottomless chalice - desire for mortal fulfillment.
For what adequate response is there to the fact of our finitude?
In those two plain words lies no firewood, no fuel, no rhetoric to ignite another flame,
Just plain Truth.

And in remembering man’s great blessing: giver of purpose, form and dignity,
Do we dare to draw back that most theatrical curtain:
To unmask the hedonic lie - robed in desire, honour and comfort.
If man is truly king and God is truly dead, then purpose should not sit so heavy on the tongue.
If men have died for greater ends: in the name of peace, justice and liberty, in the name of God,
Then no, money is no great measure, pleasure is no great purpose.
Both false ends.
But I shall take neither false penny nor false florin for this thought.