Counting Pennies in the Dark

In the depths of dark
rhymes and rondels,
an old man in stark times
gropes and fondles
a velveteen pouch glutted
with discs of copper greed,
all tarnished by the corrosion
of his incessant need.

His lonely soul is shrouded
by thick and blackened lust.

His only sole desire clouds
a conscience gone to rust.

Without surcease of avarice
his life became diseased,
and without the lust of Mammon,
this man was never pleased
and love never left its mark.

This is why he sits alone
counting pennies in the dark.