we the rich are all one with the dead
one day - perhaps even soon
we who now tread so heavily
will join them in the silent sleep
beneath the earth
exchanging the sunlight both sweet and harsh
and the touch of the wind upon the cheek
for crumbling stone and dry earth
and what will remain to mark our sojourn?

the lives of countless others
nameless faceless distant
kept broken and poor to fill our desires
they too will die - be laid in the ground
to enjoy perhaps the first rest
they have ever known

the tawdry signs and boards displaying
our valuing of life and love
a theme of lust and greed
appealing to senses already deadened
and appetites brought low through a surfeit of plenty

what call have I to mourn for us?
we take from life what we will
the self all important
and consummately empty
perhaps it is that emptiness that brings sorrow
the loss of so much that could be
and never comes before the sleep
beneath the head of stone