Well, I have posted my book giveaway for Facebook. Hopefully, it goes well. I did wonder if the two winners, somehow end up being people who are close friends of mine, will people feel that it was rigged? Hmmmmm. Hope not. But I have no control over such things. So here are the two poems and questions that I posted. I wondered if I should have posed more difficult questions. What do you think? What would you have asked?

1.
Root of All Evil

I often hear people say
That money is the root of all evil
But how can this be?
Money has no intent
It is simply paper without purpose
That is
Until its spirit is created
Then disturbed
By the hand of man
Unsuspecting in the beginning
Becoming euphorically stimulated
Pupils dilated
Affixed on all that could be
Held in his world
Which now sits
In the palms of his hands
Greed takes center stage
As envy waits behind closed curtains
And is as green as the ink that entices
One’s soul to gravitate to its spirit
Making a seemingly harmless piece of paper
A powerful being
A god of sorts
Held in high esteem
Upon a golden throne
To be given worship and praise
For all that it has adorned
Upon man’s ego-driven faith
If only he could see beyond
This god of worldly pacification
Perhaps clarity would fill his mind
And consummation between his heart and soul
Would culminate in the bosom of enlightenment
Leaving him to stand in the light of truth
If one adores materials of monetary value
And the worth of the almighty dollar
He surely cannot unequivocally love and serve
The Creator
For the LOVE of money
Is the true root of all evil

Question: Which lines reveal what gives money its power? Hint: There are four lines.

2.
A Working Man’s Peace

Each day I awake
To the noise of 2 alarms
So that I am not late
Not always the case
Because they do not motivate
Me
Mentally
Only physically
To get up
Hit the shower and the road
Which often yields rage
Against fellow disturbed beings
So I blast the Jay-Z and 50
To prevent me from seeing
Red
Upside their heads
I want to go
No
Not really
Survived the jam of traffic
Punch the clock
Empty “good mornings” ring in my ear
Feels more like a gong
Why am I here?
Another day another dollar
That’s what poor folks always holler
Working for the man
And his family
Increasing his annual profit
While working on his bottom line
Operating on a budget
Bologna sandwich
For lunch
Water, no sweet tea
Overtime to work
But still behind
Bills stay on my mind
Punch the clock again
Up out this mental prison
I am free
But not really
Just off the grind
And back behind
This wheel of frustration
Praying that I make it
Home
To be alone
Showered fresh
Reclined back
In my chair
With a beer
In one hand
Bills in another
Damn
At least I’m not at that dungeon

Question: At what point does this working man achieve his peace?