For some it’s a goddess to revere
To endow life with a buoyant cheer.

A means to earthly paradise
Despite the scoffing of the wise.

For others it’s every evil’s root
Of plundering avarice and loot.

It unleashes myriad anarchies
Defining social hierarchies.

Should it be hard labour’s meed?
Or that of enterprising deeds?

Money’s ownership and distribution
Have lit the spark of revolutions.

It’s seen the inside of many prisms
In the elusive search of the perfect “ism”.

Faith and ideology differently preach
About the path it’s power should reach.

While they jointly urge it should not ensnare
But with the less endowed be shared.

Often, its irresistible lure
Breaks family bonds that should endure.

It constitutes a miser’s hoard
It acts in philanthropic Mode.

Either way there can’t be enough
Of that crisp or jingling stuff.

Can you find a greater paradox
Than the riddle of the money box?