Money is the collar
we wear at our throat.
It's the shackle we wear
whilst the capitalists gloat.
It restricts every movement,
adds discomfort and pain.
So that we, exist with anxiety,
worry and shame.
Without it we're lost,
we know not what to do.
Our survival feels threatened
vulnerabilities show through.
It's a man made creation,
to restrict and confuse.
If starting again...
is this what we'd choose?
YOU ARE READING
A poem per day
PoetryA place for poems. One year. 365 poems. A challenge, a journey - a quest to be a better writer.
