Money Money

The hollow ache, a vacant purse,

A life on pause, a silent curse.

Each simple joy, a priced delight,

Beyond my reach, in shadowed night.

Am I enslaved, a puppet strung,

To emerald threads, forever clung?

Or did I choose this gilded chain,

And weave myself this web of pain?

I want, I crave, the breathing space,

To buy a smile, erase this trace

Of gnawing want, this constant fear,

Whispering failure in my ear.

I need, I long for solid ground,

Where seeds of hope may sprout around.

But love for wealth? It feels untrue,

A hollow god I can't imbue

With genuine devotion's flame.

I will not kneel, partake the shame,

Of selling soul for fleeting gain,

Yet dark desires stir within this brain.

The chasm deep, a moral test,

To trade integrity, to be possessed.

But no, I fight, I claw, I strain,

Against the lure, the tempting stain.

Confused, I stand, a tangled thread,

Between the living and the dead.

A life unfurled, yet tightly bound,

By lack of means, on barren ground.

Oh, I am weary, bone on bone,

Of being broke, utterly alone.

The endless grind, the future bleak,

I only yearn, for a future meek,

Where wealth will not dictate my worth,

And I can finally find my birth.