Money

Money.

What is money but linen strips and shrapnel bits?
What is money but plastic cards and broken hearts?
What is it but pointless?

Of hollow dreams, of suffering.
A faded ambition, a life of regret.
The answer for the uninspired.

Those with it, can’t live without it.
Those without it, can’t find it.
Those both with it and without it, a hybrid of the two.

Hypocrisy and cheap rhyme.
It never changes.

Author's Notes/Comments:

When writing this piece, I was sat within the four walls of my university bedroom. The night was cold, which made my bedroom even more so considering how it was one of two bedrooms to be situated directly above the parting of the building. I was sat in-front of my desk procrastinating revision when I noticed my wallet, open, with many of the contents sprawled across the desk. Seven pounds and twenty-three pence, plus whatever unbelonging money was in my current account. It made me think; for what purpose am I sat here accumulating such vast debt as each second passes? For a better lifestyle? For a better future for a potential family? My girlfriend was sat nine doors down from me, unlikely to have been contemplating the same conundrum. What it comes down to most though, is money. As the old saying goes:

‘Money makes the world go round.’

Outraged by my admission, I meant to glorify my disdain through the written word. In a world of greed, it is a sad time we live in when every second thought concerns the Capitalist regime. Then came the realisation that money, the enemy, is what gave me my own opportunities; thus, the couplet.