A Sonnet on Wealth

The cost of living shackled…

In truth, this kind of prompt’s wasted on me
For I have all I want, substantially
I can go where I will most of my days
But get quite little from prideful displays

Of pomp or wealth. These things bring comforts, true:
But also bear a price as all things do,
The cost of living shackled to one’s gold
To rise and fall as it does, and grow old

In knowing every place you go’s for show.
The vanity of life that all can know
If ever money takes at last its pawn
A soul that’s wasted, then forever gone

And so if all resource to use was mine
I hope that I’d leave most of it behind

= = = =

(Note – I realize this is cheating and doesn’t answer the prompt. I also realize it makes me sound nobler than I really am. Take my word for it — I’m not.)

Author: Beleaguered Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

9 thoughts on “A Sonnet on Wealth”

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