Richer Than Croesus
(for those who still have their voice)
Croesus, you count your kingdoms in coin,
your vaults in the weight of other men’s labour.
I count mine in mornings
when I can still open my mouth
and the words walk out unshackled.
You have your treasuries,
I have the street corner where a poem
can be spoken without a shadow
leaning in to take my name.
You measure worth in minted suns,
I measure it in the faces that stay
to hear the last line,
in the silence that follows
because it is listening, not enforced.
In your world, art is an ornament,
a bauble for the banquet table.
In mine, it is bread broken in the open,
shared without ledger or lock.
I am richer than you, Croesus,
because my metaphors are not contraband,
my stanzas are not smuggled in the lining of my coat,
my breath is not taxed at the border of my own tongue.
And yet I know the others —
the poets whose lines are buried with them,
whose names are whispered only in kitchens,
whose verses are memorised like escape routes.
For them, I speak louder.
For them, I spend my wealth of safety
as if it were gold,
laying it down in the marketplace of voices
where the only price is courage.
So keep your coins, Croesus.
I will keep my mornings,
my street corners,
my unshackled mouth.
And in the ledger of what matters,
I will always be the wealthier man.
.
-
Author:
crypticbard (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 19th, 2025 05:56
- Comment from author about the poem: Croesus was the last king of Lydia, ruling in the mid‑6th century BCE in what is now western Turkey. Renowned for his immense wealth, he became a byword for riches in the ancient world — the phrase “as rich as Croesus” still survives today. His fortune came from control of trade routes, tribute from subject cities, and the gold‑laden sands of the River Pactolus. A patron of monumental building and early coinage, Croesus also became a cautionary figure in Greek history: despite his riches, he lost his kingdom to Cyrus the Great of Persia, a reminder that fortune is fickle and power can vanish overnight. In the poem’s frame, Croesus is invoked not as a history lesson but as a living metaphor. He stands for the idea of wealth as a gatekeeper — the figure against whom the value of art, access, and voice is measured. By setting him as a counterpoint, the poem invites readers to consider what it means to be “richer than Croesus” in a world where the true currency of poetry may be freedom, reach, and the ability to speak without price.
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Comments6
Another masterful creation Cryptic such great lines (words walk out unshackled, where a poem can be spoken without a shadow, You measure worth in minted suns, my breath is not taxed at the border of my own tongue) Any one would have made a great poem. The meaning behind the poem a wonderful one. A definite fave
Thanks, Soren. This is a freedom to relish and stand for. 🕊️🙏🏻
You are most welcome Cryptic. Freedom of speech adjoined to this is becoming more and more curbed. control and lack of individual responsibility some causes strikes at the heart of poetry and thought itself.
My sentiments exactly🕊️🙏🏻
Full marks there, Rik. I almost ended up shouting 'Yes!' at the end of each stanza... except my next door neighbor may have banged on the wall... I just hope that our situation whereby our 'freedom, reach, and the ability to speak without price' continues......
Yes! That’s something we aim at with every age of writing/speaking🕊️🙏🏻
Good write A.
Thanks O🕊️🙏🏻
Didn't we meet Croesus in person? If you're millions of years old as Goldfinch and I are. lol.
I know you count your lucky stars my friend, for you are blessed with the clear vision of one who appreciates the true meaning of life, and possesses the ability to put into words what truly touchs the heart, the mind and soul. Thank you for sharing this gem!
Most welcome dear poet, and thank you for sharing your much valued thoughts. 🕊️🙏🏻
Rik, this is powerful. You pit minted suns and vaults of tribute against mornings, street corners, and unshackled words…and in that contrast the real wealth shines. That image of stanzas smuggled in a coat lining stays with me…a chilling picture of poets silenced. Your note deepens it further: Croesus as more than a king, but a symbol of wealth as gatekeeper. Against that, you set poetry as bread broken in the open, courage as the only currency. Fierce, liberating, and true, my friend. 🌹🖤🙏🕯️🐦⬛
That means so much Tittu. This poem has truly been read and completed 🕊️🙏🏻
Wonderful words Rik but for those of us who have a home, food to eat and a loved one in our lives we are richer than Croesus.
Andy
That’s exactly the thought that spurred this write! Thanks, Andy 🕊️🙏🏻
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