Whispers of Silence

Riches and Skeletons

Dayum what power of riches
   does!
That arrogant stench-my nose it
   itches.
They are rotating: those wheels
   called life.
Yesterday's theirs, and today's still theirs,
   yet I'll wait 'til the fruit named karma
   shall be ripe.

Uh-oh, those rolling eyes!
We'll all be bones: alike, all will rot
   and die.
Go on, fight like fools-these foolish
   imperfections.
Mocking their lapses instead of filling
   each other's gaps through telling;
   mademoiselle, encourage harmony
   and discard attaining perfection.

Don't be blinded by thy riches'
   glimmering lights.
Death's knock on our door is unknown:
      day or night?