Not about the "Benjamins"

I dreamed once of rain showers made from paper, green.

Red and blue synthetic fibers woven around numbers and dead men’s faces; blank expressions.

Falling from grey skies, these empty gazes collect at my feet; they promise nothing.

They stare, tauntingly as if shouting: “you can’t touch me”…

And as I reached to gather my fictitious fortune, the faces, they fall away like grains of sand from my tightly clenched hands.

“Is there never any end?” I weep.

Then,I am warmed.

Awakened by the sun in all her glory she reminds me:

Money, does not an untroubled soul make.