Money Is A Girl.

She came in the hush of sleep

small hands outstretched, clutching something

I could not name but knew to be gold

her hair tangled, her eyes too wide

sweet and merciless at once

a child who owed nothing to mercy

who offered everything and demanded much

I recoiled and woke, the echo of her smile

still hovering over the edges of my day.

She moves where she wills

silent as shadow, unseen;

no lock can hold her back

no law can bend her will.

I felt her today while I prayed

my hand itched as if touched by her tiny fingers

a presence both tender and terrible

offering what I cannot refuse

and asking for what I may not give

Her laugh is soft, like wind over leaves

but it cuts deeper than steel,

she does not choose sides

she does not care for saints or sinners

only that her presence is noticed

that her offer is taken

and her price is paid

for she will not be ignored.

I wake again, and she is there

a shadow in the corner of thought...

small, untouchable, unblinking

offering what I cannot refuse,

demanding what I cannot name

reminding me that she is neither friend nor foe

only herself,

the girl who is money,

and money who is a girl.

Poet's note:

Wealth lives in my imagination as a girl who visits in the hush of sleep. She is small and strange, her hands filled with something that glitters like gold. She is sweet and merciless at the same time, a child untouched by pity. When she comes, I feel both awe and fear, because she offers everything and demands much in return.

To me, wealth is alive. She moves where she wills and no one can restrain her. No lock can hold her and no law can tame her. I have felt her even in prayer, her unseen fingers brushing against mine, reminding me that her power is both tender and terrible. She gives what I cannot refuse and asks for what I am not sure I can give.

She has a laugh that sounds gentle, but it cuts deep. She does not care for saints or sinners. She cares only that I notice her, that I take what she offers, and that I pay her price. She is neither kind nor cruel, but she cannot be ignored.

I know now that she is not my friend or my enemy. She is only herself. She is money and money is a girl. She comes and goes without reason. She reflects who I am when I reach for her. She is not good or evil, but her presence tests me.

Wealth is ironical. In understanding it, I see that its power lies in our understanding of it. It is a chameleon that can play the role of slave, master, or friend, whichever I choose.

Wealth, to me, is not a possession. It is a spirit that lives beyond control, something that can comfort or destroy. She reminds me that what she offers always carries a cost, and that I must decide what part of myself I am willing to spend.