As we descended deeper through the gloom,
The air grew thick with greed's oppressive weight,
A hunger that consumed and sealed their doom.
The landscape shifted, twisted by their fate,
A scene both dark and strangely familiar,
A world of excess, bent beneath its freight.
"This is the Fourth," said Virgil, calm yet dire,
"Here lie the souls who lived for wealth alone,
Who hoarded gold, or spent with reckless fire."
I saw the tortured souls, their faces shown
In endless strain, their burdens hard to bear,
Each pushed with chests the wealth they once had known.
They shoved their golden coins, jewels so rare,
And stacks of cash, all gleaming with false light,
Yet never moved an inch—stuck in despair.
At circle's edge, Plutus, a twisted sight,
The guardian of this cursed, greedy pit,
His form grotesque, eyes cold as darkest night.
His hands, like claws, reached out, grasping at it—
The endless need for more, for wealth to grow,
A monstrous being, never to remit.
"These souls," said Virgil, "once sought to bestow
Their lives on gold, on wealth that brings no peace,
In death, their greed is all they have to show."
Around us, scenes of wealth that would not cease—
The souls engaged in flaunting all they own,
In endless cycles, riches did increase.
Yet satisfaction stayed a thing unknown,
Their lives a parody of wealth and pride,
A competition that no one could throne.
They flaunted riches, on display, no guide
Could teach them otherwise—they lived to show,
Each trying to outshine the other side.
The streams of images around did flow—
The lavish lives, the luxury, the pride,
Yet in their eyes, a hollow, endless woe.
They shouted accusations far and wide,
"Hoarders!" one group cried out, their voices loud,
"Wasters!" came the other side's reply.
But all their cries were lost within the shroud
Of greed that clouded every thought and deed,
In life, their wealth had made them false and proud.
Virgil, with sadness, spoke of endless need,
"They lived to take, to flaunt, to own the most,
But all it did was drive them to exceed."
The souls were trapped, in wealth they sought to boast,
Yet never did their greed bring them content,
A vicious cycle with no worthy host.
As we moved on, the scenes grew more intense,
The flaunting of their riches grotesque,
Their souls entangled in their own expense.
I saw the rich display their wealth and bask
In jewels, in homes, in cars, all things of price,
Yet on their faces, joy became a mask.
They lived to show, but paid a heavy price—
Their lives reduced to numbers on a screen,
A ceaseless game of one-up, cold as ice.
Around them, those who watched, with envy keen,
Were left in want, their lives a stark contrast,
To wealth that flickered in a world obscene.
Virgil sighed, his voice a sorrowful blast,
"These souls, they lived for wealth that does not last,
Now trapped in endless greed, their time has passed."
As we moved on, the vision spread so vast,
A world consumed by greed, by wealth's cruel hand,
The rich enslaved the poor, their shadows cast.
Corporations towered, greedy and grand,
Their tendrils tore the earth, devoured it whole,
Stripping the world of life, of beauty's strand.
The earth was scarred, the rivers choked with coal,
The land left barren, lifeless, cold and grey,
All in the name of profit's ruthless goal.
The markets surged, a beast that led astray,
Fortunes made and lost in flashing light,
The greed of traders stole the poor's last day.
The world above was held in endless blight,
The rich grew richer, while the poor grew weak,
The heads of banks escaped the coming night.
And as we walked, the vision turned to bleak—
The masters of the world consumed with rage,
They turned on each, their hunger at its peak.
The rich devoured each other on the stage,
Their wealth now worthless, their power gone,
The final act of greed's destructive wage.
Virgil spoke, his voice a mournful song,
"They thought they could possess all that they saw,
But in the end, their greed has led them wrong."
The world was stripped of all, no hope, no law,
The rich were left with nothing but their shame,
Their hunger grew, and to each other's maw.
"This is what comes of wealth's relentless game,"
Virgil said, his words like heavy stone,
"When greed consumes, it leaves us all the same."
I saw the truth, and felt the world alone,
A place where greed had taken all away,
The earth left barren, all its beauty flown.
"There is a hope," said Virgil in dismay,
"But it requires that we change our ways,
To turn from greed, and find a brighter day."
As the vision faded in the haze,
I knew the path we walked was one of pain,
But hope remained, a light in darkened ways.