In a beam of light filled with mystic gold that turns to dust when it passes through.
Worth about as much as money which is our agreed upon lie between me & you.
It’s as real as the gold dust in a passing corona of light.
Do we still agree upon this lie when we both know it’s not right?
Paper, gold, pounds & pence the lie can’t go on forever.
But not many agree with these words & can’t let go…not ever.
They’ll ride this horse towards a burning barn & be engulfed in flames.
But, when the lie fails & it’s masters have self immolated we won’t recall they’re names.
L.B.Stowe 