rich body
poor body
under the sand one day will be your body
after days of standing in the store sobbing
about the price of milk and soap and coffee
a heap of flowers with a tomb stone in the middle
your name and date in polshed granite scribbles
For what is a grave
But a man and his perceptions
a body with hands cracked of services rendered
forget long lines at shopping mall centers
because under the sand none of that will be remembered
then days of your thoughts will be ages away
and the grass and thorns will weather your grave
so rich man, poor man, master or slave
from deep into the future or way back in the day
opinions are futile and will fade with your name
so don't be too proud of the inventions of your mind
For when you leave they will soon follow behind
though the world will be there for us humans to criticize
Eventually every word will be buried inside