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)
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