A Matter of Trust

 

My money's all been moved online,

I don't have the inclination, or the time.

To stuff cash into my bed,

Or bury gold, like the dead.

 

Cash and check free is where I want to be,

No worry hanging over my head.

But in my deepest thoughts,

There is a bit of dread. 

 

That one hundred thousand years of accumulation,

So often taken away.

Through hard work and barter,

To this very day. 

 

"You can't take it with you."

They jokingly say.

But most wealth is inherited 

So that's the way

 

To do what you never could have done.

To be the one who gave his soul,

Through self control,

And funded the saving of the Universe. 

 

But, that's perverse.

Like the thought that all that money,

Floating on its electronic decimal,

Isn't real; it's just funny.

 

Funny money.

And the joke's on you.



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Copyright 1999 (c) Ronald W. Hull

 

5/2/99


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My Place

Read War's End, the Novel