The Chase

Money, elusive, slips through my hand,  

A river of gold, a line in the sand.  

It flees my grasp, a shadow, a ghost,  

Chasing only those who problem-solve most.  

I watch it vanish, a sigh in the breeze,  

Lost in my blindness, down on my knees.  

Skills I lack, solutions unknown,  

While wealth finds a place in others' homes.  

If only I could shape and mold  

Answers to questions, ideas bold.  

For riches come to those who see  

A way through each adversity.  

But here I stand, a mind still, bare,  

With empty pockets, hands in despair.  

Yet perhaps this spark of anger's right,  

A flame to fuel my skills' first light.  

So, let money run, a taunt, a dare,  

I’ll sharpen my mind, I’ll meet it there.  

For wealth awaits where answers flow—  

In learning, trying, and skills I grow.