Time Dollars

I walk with confidence into the world. 
My silver hair is all pinned up in curls. 
Every step knowing that my time is money 
Listening to the sounds is making it more sunny.

A vault full, starting when I was young, 
as the house was never quite full of tongue-
in-cheek, tending to be taken lightly.
 Mom would say, "Up to bed, hoodlums," nightly. 

Those meaningful times when I could dig 
up that pot of money that had grown big. 
I was the oldest, the one who kept order. 
Now, old as I’ve become, I'm a hoarder.

My life is a tangled patchwork blanket. 
Under rules and sworn oaths of loyalty, a bandit. 
How many hours of time turned into currency?
A dreamer with echoes of laughter, all so cozy.

lifemoneyrhyme

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