The Ledger'd Maw

They came not to feel but to tally the ache—
Each sorrow is a token, each kindness is a stake.
The vault does not echo with grief, that is true,
But with brass-bound regrets that were bartered for view.

To trade feelings for favor is to kneel in the dust,
Where sincerity rusts, and illusion breeds trust.
The scales do not balance—they tilt toward the lie,
Where compassion collapses and memory runs dry.

No hunger for gold, no thirst for acclaim—
But for mercy repackaged, for grief without name.
They do not seek connection, just credit and claim,
A ledger of longing, a contract of shame.

Some weep to be seen, not to be whole—
Their tears are receipts, not balm for the soul.
So every tear traded, each whisper once tossed,
Is a moment erased, a memory lost?

So beware the Vault, where emotions are sold—
Where the spirit of Greed wears ink-stained gold.
For Greed is patient, and Greed is near—
In every transaction, it is disguised as a tear.