Money

This world of material things,
And all the happiness it brings.
Pocketful of cold monies and such,
 Midas vain, gilded touch.

Worry-lined takes a toll,
Fissure pecked on a soul.
Penny-pinched goldilocks,
Isolation, in society flocks.

Mistrust deep, goodwill at stake,
Pleonexia opts for gold as keepsake.
Purse-strings hold hostage in embrace,
Buy that bliss for foolhardy place.

What's to show for all hoarding?
Is that loneliness rewarding?
Who grieves at bedside when ya go?
Coins remain cold, ya know.

Coffins knell kindred for all,
Grim nails it as he comes to call
An unhappy thought but it’s so true,
In the end, those riches only bury you.