Do you live your whole life
  in a half empty space

Do you swear up and down
  your excuses defaced

Do you sing in a choir
  where the music has died

Do you brand all as liars
  as your tongue remains tied

Do you rob from the master
  just to steal from the slave

Do you hide in a mansion
  built on top of your grave

Do you look for direction
  trails barren and thin

Does your soul beg correction
  torn away from within

Do you begin every sentence
  tracing back to the past

Do you waste precious moments
   —writing checks you can’t cash

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2016)