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'Hands off,' says the bag of cash to the robber.
Or, wishes it could have said,
Because it was an inanimate object,
While the robber was not.
The bag of cash was just a cotton satchel
While the robber was all flesh and blood.

'Where are you taking me?' the bag of cash silently wails.
It doesn't see the light of day
When the robber stuffs it into the trunk of his car.
Alone, the bag of cash occasionally jumps up in the darkness
As the robber's sidekick -- his car
Rushes him to an alien place.

'I have been forsaken,' the bag of cash mopes.
Once the robber takes it out,
The bag of cash will have to die.
It cannot imagine the horrifying thought
Of the robber slitting him open.
Its organs -- the wads of cash -- will all spill out in a puddle.
What did the bag of cash deserve
To meet with such terrible fate?

But the bag of cash hears a gunshot
Once, twice, and thrice.
And a flicker of hope lights up within it.
It sees the light of day again as the trunk opens
And, to its delight, sees the robber
Cuffed by the wrist and wearing a scowl.

'I can go home now,' thinks the bag of cash,
As the police officer takes it into his arms.
And once it's home, back in the vault
It can relay the frightening experience
To other bags of cash, bursting with paper bills and eagerness.
A little something I brewed up while I was DMing some of my friends last night. I kind of like this work a lot, to be honest.
Brycical Jun 2014
I believe my parents think they're speaking for the rest of society when they tell me that
being a poet,
to live by writing
isn't financially sound.
They tell me I could not make a living doing that,
as if I am not already making a living,
as if money is needed to pump blood through my veins,
admire a cloudy cream orange sunset atop a hill
or taste the lovely chai & chocolate covered lips of an air nymph.

They tell me that if I don't get another job,
I will have no money, that I will be broke,

as if there's something to fix.

My parents, who speak for the rest of society tell me
I will be dirt poor should I not find a job and make an honest wage.

Luckily I love being with Momma Nature
in the dirt;
being grounded--
planting seeds,
occasionally smoking tree,
just seeing the transparent process of nature
as opposed to the hidden secrets we're not allowed to see
in our food thanks to the lobbyists & their poison tongues.
If that isn't enough, I fail to see what's more honest than poetry..............................

I'm told money makes the world go round,
though I fail to see how a million or even a billion paper notes and coins can push this big 'ol blue planet around the sun.

I'm told without money, society will collapse,
but I suppose it was bound to happen when you build something with such a flimsy paper thin structure.
I also remember we humans seemed to do alright until the invention of currency.

I'm told by my parents who speak for society that without money,
I am nothing, a nobody.

And well, I don't see how that can be true,
cause I'm getting to know each and everyone one of you as you are me,
and I think all my friends here and around the world would agree
that they at least know me, which means I ain't nobody.

My parents and TV tell me that without money my self worth should be zilch,
but most days I wake up feeling like a million hugs
radiating through me, around me, with me
as I see the difference I am making in the eyes of some of you today
and those I have already spoken to.

Without money, I live free,
Bill Hicks once said, "If you think you're free, try going somewhere without any ******* money."

— The End —