Tis always money,
nothing more.
To the piece of gold,
we are the whore.
Whatever it takes,
for whatever is seen.
At the risk of our lives,
fulfilling our needs.
Hypnotized by the shine,
on the coin that we see.
In this blanket of gold,
wrapped up in our greed.

saint cynosure ( Ken Bennight )

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/whores-for-gold/