Dim Ticking

Caught somewhere between
Feeling awake and a dream
Feeling dim in each

Sufficient to work
But what will be sacrificed
In the grander scheme?

Still, it must be done
The clock ticks here in dollars
And takes all you have

The gift of the poor
May be not minding the one
That ticks years to death

If the first is quenched
What force has strength to distract
From the second's tick?

Pity the rich man
That knows his treasures are dust
The moment he dies

Maybe they persist
But his use of them will cease
He backed the wrong horse

A foolish wager
For death marches forth from birth
How much gold stops it? 

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