The numbers change
Into red, into green.
The climbing slope goes deep.
Imaginary fund flows in.
People go nuts.
People scream in delight.
They sleep with girls bought with notes.
They drink in gold out of wine.
But soon it crumbles,
Like bread crumbs soaked in blood.
When figures start to fall in wall street,
And bank of hundred years simmers,
We realize we live in delusions.
And delusions are our reality.
Copyright Paul Po Lo Chan October 2013