Checks You Can'T Cash

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)