The purpose within money

 

I thought about this again last night
as I lay in bedridden conversations
with myself,

this thought about money living,
what it means, and what it is
and why we need it in a universe we live in,
freely.

I contemplated the rain, the drops of free
water soaking in my shoes, becoming puddles
for the birds to play in.

This nonchalance-kind-of-attitude I carry
separates my youth, like an abyss,

with my adult self on the other side that
lingers, heavy restless in the mind.

Even now, as I'm full grown to be who I know
I am, apart from all my rainbow dreaming,
I hear clearly the wind-chimes singing
on the thunderstorms in the distance, nearing.

I think then about my brother leaving,
rising early in the morning, amidst the rain
pouring heavily on his cold forehead.

I wondered, if money living was so foreign
to an artist that only thinks of life
as being so open, carefree, and liberating,
then how is it I am here now writing typing
out this thought process
while those that love me go on working?

I use to tell my dear friends, resting
somewhere in the ghetto alleys, that
happiness is so cost free, so please go on
take another of this twenty liter
that ate up all my savings.

To laugh, even briefly, never cost a damn thing.
But to live a life so carefree
took up all my families memories spending
long days working into evenings.

I still believe,
there is some truth in peaceful living
among all this free will laughing, playing,
singing, dancing, being.

But I understand now, as I sober in the morning,
that I leave embers where I walk so freely.
That spending has a giving, and giving needs us
spending.

I still believe,
people have a right to end all poverty
eating breadcrumbs from the wealthy, also
being told their bills are paid completely.

Yet, I see now where my thinking slipped to dreaming
when there is no one in the bread mills stacking
cast irons for the rising yeast inflating and the hours
packaging the storage, and someone to monitor all
the shifting gears and machine oiling.

Someone to load and drive to bread stores and
someone to place them on the shelves for purchase.

Someone to pay the cashier, and someone to prepare
the bread meals.

There is nothing given that is not paid in spending.

Spending hours to make machines move, spending hours
to make a jazz tune, spending time to code computers,
and spending time to watch a video.

Time that reflects in our labor paychecks, time
well spent all the effort.

Time to pay your friend a visit, at their deathbed,
time that nears the ending.

I believe, that all of this was well worth it,
donating my own time working, spending, living,
moving, forward doing something worth the minute
breathing.

If we only took the time to notice, spending is how to
keep society flowing, rewarding out the labor and
all the seconds that we forfeit. 

There was always a cost in this sacrifice we so petty
coin the suffering.

There was a cost in laughing, giving time for those
around me.

There was a cost in smiling, straining my muscles to
react you entering buildings.

There was even a cost in loving, all the moments
that I worked to endure, just to see you, again.

This love in my youth I called universal,
always left me with a price-tag only needing
moments of my time, to hold you,
watching sunsets fade into old days
neither you or I can relive.

08.14.2023