What I Really Want

I want to be rich.

If I were rich, I could stay in bed all day.
I could have someone else cook my food and clean my house.
And I wouldn't feel the need to sell my soul for a dime.
I could finally rest.

If I were rich, I could escape from all my pain.
I could get all the counseling and inner healing the world had to offer me.
I could buy all the most exotic, healthiest foods.
I wouldn't ever have to die.
I would be immortal and free from harm.

...Or would I?

I guess what I really want is safety.
I guess what I really want is peace.
I guess what I really want is to live my life on some other planet.
Where the creatures don't kill themselves and each other,
And where time is a friend.

I don't think I really want to be rich.
There's not enough money in the world to fill this empty hole in my chest.
There's not enough money in the world to save me from death.
There's not enough and there never will be enough.

I think money is just the band-aid I'm trying to put over the top of my blood gushing soul.
My attempt to reverse the curse of this broken world around me.
If I had enough money I could buy my own island and live on it -
Far away from nuclear bombs and toxic chemicals.
Far away from dysfunctional relationships
And my own hungry addiction.

If I had enough money, I could create my own perfect world around me -
Where I could be free from the frailty of my own body
And my own soul.
I would be powerful. I would be strong.
I wouldn't do anything ever that was wrong.

...Or would I?

I guess what I really want is a Father.
I guess what I really want is redemption.
I guess what I really want is safe passage through death -
To a better world on the other side.

And that, I already have.