In this world
you are shown
all which you cannot have
to remind you
that you could have had
it all.

Limitations
are self-inflicted;
not to be
if you knew
grace
over greed.

Too much time
spent working
on presentation
rather than living
or contributing.

Your back porch
holds a glorious view
of heaven,
but you never fixed
the hinges
on that old screen door.

The front door,
such a beauty,
with a road led right to it;
paved
with those infamous
good intentions.

Rotten
you have become
from the inside
out;
a lifetime
of rot.

You will pay
for rich mahogany,
the greenest plot,
and exaggerated compliments
on a marble tombstone
dating your legacy.

Your grave,
even with another
hollow shell
beside of you,
will only be
your own.

You will finally
do the world a favor,
as you walk straight
towards the light;
while your life flashes,
you will count:

Every wrong turn you took,
time you sold out,
penny you saved,
back you stabbed,
promise you crossed,
and every second you wasted.

And to prove
you have learned
nothing
of what truly
ranks important,
you will count

Every                                    
   Single                        
         Soulless            
                Being    
                          In  
       ­                                   Attendance

(Who will ensure
you are put in the ground
and covered in soil
cleaner than yourself)
so you will know
you were well known.

And in that moment,
as a parting gift
to your vagabond sham of a soul,
you will realize
that the maggots who will eat your flesh
deserve better.