November 29, 2011

money

This surrounding
People
Ten sticks thick
We're still
A blade of grass
A polished stone
Wind or waves
Tumble us
Like we're nothing
Money
Doesn't buy
Eaters of resentment
Or guilted regret
Crisscrossing of hands
And legs
Mingling of spit
And hair
That faith won't save you
Every step forward
Grass
Or pebbles
In the sole
Of your well worn shoe

8 comments:

Natasha Head said...

Fantastic! Lots of fun with the word play here as well, and a refreshing take on the root of all evil. Bravo!And a Happy OpenLinkNight, of course :)

Serving Hugs on a Platter and Tears in a Teacup said...

so very true!!

Chris G. said...

A good onslaught of imagery here, revealing a certain inter-connectivity...and a certain burden all bear. I agree with Natasha - a good dose of word-play in this, and a curious rumination that demands more than one read-through.

Rosemary Nissen-Wade said...

I like the way it moves through all the images in unexpected ways.

Brian Miller said...

your words do dance, sideways at time making me think through the progression...is it the money or the heart that holds it...

poemblaze said...

A good strong poem! Glad I got a chance to read it.

ayala said...

Love the word play, nice!!!!!!!!!!

jackie dick said...

An original for Mammon! Cheers!