CBDC Dream

They sold you chains and called them wings,
a ledger glowing on a screen.
No cotton now, just silent code,
your name reduced to barcode node.  

Central Bank Digital Currency,
a velvet cage with velvet key.
They track the crumb, they track the tear,
they own the dream you spend in fear.  

A flick of code, your wealth can freeze,
“non-compliant,” if you displease.
No pocket, purse, no hiding place,
just glass-eyed gods who know your face.  

They promise safety, promise ease,
while welding locks upon your knees.
One policy, one midnight switch,
your life’s work gone without a twitch.  

But roots in nothing, floats on lies,
a vampire bathed in neon skies.
It drinks the future, drinks the child,
then smiles and says the rate is mild.  

Yet something hums beneath the grid,
the same old truth they never hid:
when trust is forced and freedom banned,
even digits burn like sand.  

The wheel still turns, the metal sings,
gold remembers heavier things.
A single coin, unblessed, untallied,
can break the spell when courage rallied.  

Watch the towers built of air,
they tremble when we stop and stare.
One quiet refusal, one calm “no,”
and all their zeros turn to snow.  

CBDC is fiat’s final ghost,
a throne of mirrors, empty boast.
Step past the gate, breathe metal breath,
the chain dissolves the hour of death.  

The ink was always doomed to fade.
Truth weighs more than code they made.