In volumes thick and dense with thought, Lies Marx's tome, the work he wrought, A weighty analysis of wealth, And how it's made by labor's health. "Capital," its name, a name that stands, For all the power in human hands, The power to own, to buy and sell, To profit, hoard, exploit as well. Marx saw this power, and he knew, That it was based on something true, The labor of the working class, Who toil and sweat, day after day, en masse. He traced the history of this force, From feudal times to present course, And showed how capital arose, From expropriation of labor's flows. He scrutinized the market's might, And how it worked to set things right, Or so it seemed, for in its wake, Exploitation of the poor did take. And though his words were strong and clear, And though his message did ring near, The world still turned, and time marched on, And capital's grip, it only dawned. Yet Marx's Capital stands today, A challenge to the status quo's sway, A call for justice, for equity, A vision of a better reality
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