one light

one light

one light fades

another brightens

in the movement,

the processional march

of time

the fulcrum of life

is deaths gate

which swings unto it’s self

purses filled with “treasures”

made of Sows ears

are swine-fully embraced

in the deliverance

of the purchases

with ill gotten currencies

we spend it any way

filling our coffers

with delusional

treasures and treatises

as we yearn for the sweeter fruits

on limbs beyond our reach

for we are too ill-witted to climb

we celebrate our lethargies

boasting

of the supposed “ease” we enjoy

“Man you got it made in the shade!”

and your ass is fat an lazy too

turn the damn light on will

so we can see

© spring 2012 : william s. peters, sr.