Gold Divides

You ask me if I like money
And smirk, as if you knew the answer,
Like you always know the answer

But you’re wrong this time,
Maybe the first in your eyes
You’re wrong because I despise
What draws between us all,
Such deep and jagged lines

Tell me, if not money
If not gold-induced status
What defines, in your hungering eye
The rich man from the poor,
The artist from the business man;
CEOs from hippies with their broken vans,
The man, clutching a stained sheet of cardboard
From the one on the posters, whom you worship as a lord

Status.
Glamour.
Scandals and magazines.
You values, waste away
On your own precious time
And I,
I’ll waste my own time
Penning this rhyme
Pondering all along
But not doubting
The reason you were wrong