More Like a Merchant

I am feeling rather practical today, 
More like a merchant, less like a poet.
I am intrigued by watching money,
Seeing it slowly trickle in,
Marking down the numbers
Alotting the returns
And pouring a portion of my means,
Into the opportunities that wait.
And what’s the point?
To grow in wealth.
How vulgar that once seemed.
And yet, as the rivers flow into the Ocean,
I am drawn unto this end,
As if from the beginning it was 
And always has been my sacred pledge.
And as the rich despised my poverty,
The poor will hate my wealth.
How strange. And yet,
I cannot but follow 
The Voice 
That now prompts me to do it.
My life, my fortune, is forfeit unto Him.