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Money: Master or Servant
A day dream swept o'er me not long ago and a dream of a different kind. A strange view of life, purporting to show through the eyes of a dollar of mine. Just as if it could talk and see and feel and could tell of all it had seen. An outrageous thing for indeed it seemed real and I liked not such a true dream. Removing a dollar, my pocket did keep and holding it up to the sky. It promised to take me, through dreamy day-sleep in its power I found I could fly. My soul borne on wings, lightning swift through the air to a deep and dark city slum. Nefarious acts done in hot fetid lairs bearing not the true light of the sun. And I buried my face as I saw evil deeds that were done to obtain worldly wealth. From the scheming drug pushers hungry with greed to the smugglers, living by stealth. But the dollar said naught, for it felt no pain at the drugs that it bought that night. Or the moonlight shining off the bloodstains on the knives of the street gangs that fight. In an instant then, transported, was I to a refugee camp far away. Hungry mouths to feed, under pitiless sky where a desperate famine held sway. And I wept for joy when I saw hope alive brought about when my dollar was sent to the desperate hordes that barely survive skeletons in their thin ragged tents. But the dollar said naught, for it felt no joy as it paid for the bags full of food. To feed homeless waifs and a hungry young boy and a widow's thin, starving brood. It cared not a whit for the charities it allowed to bless humankind. How ironic then are those verities that upset our complacent minds. For money feels nothing it's the person who... wields it that makes a true choice. Motivated by self in all that they do they may hearken to greed's subtle voice. Perhaps to gain power, perhaps to be seen they steal and kill for great gain. Perhaps out of guilt, a wish to be clean they may give just because they are vain. The more we love money the more we're controlled giving it real power to rule. The more that we grasp it, the harder to hold for no patience, has money - with fools. The dollar is only a gauge of our heart for regardless the words that we speak. How do we obtain and how do we part with the wealth we eternally seek? Using this dollar, a tool no less just as fire can warm us or burn. A servant too slipp'ry for us to possess the Lord really owns it, I've learned. Then I blinked my eyes for the dream did not linger still amazed at what had transpired. and I held up that dollar 'twixt thumb and forefinger musing o'er all the things I've desired. None of them, I could see, mere money could buy greater holiness, wisdom, purposed life. A vision and passion, the spirit to try health and strength, family, loving wife. Indeed mere money had nothing to bring me. I knew I was free from its snare. For the Lord is the giver of every good thing and this truth, in our world, is still rare. I resolved to repeat this small test for my health frequently in the course of the years. Whenever deceitfulness of worldly wealth slyly led me towards trials and tears. Then I folded that dollar in with the rest to my pocket and then with a smile. I thanked my dear Lord that I'd passed the test at least for a very short while.
Originally published on my website mypoemsforlife.com as "The Dollar"
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