This Money Poem by Green Peace

This money
Of which income?
Of which education?
Of the doctor or the sweeper?
These clear white spotless, scented, intact, printed notes

Are all the same
Is there any difference of their utility?
That marks the qualification

Then why these walls?
That demarcate pride, prestige, status, dignity
Whose prejudice?
When hostility?

Why adhere such inconsistent dark thorns
That crush the sensibility and bleed the soul-
For they're impermanent
Yet mark permanent marks on the real status of the soul.