Death Account

Time is money
As he locked the door, a palm came open
waiting for dues to be paid.
How many hours, days, weeks can you pay your wage?
So is the length of your life.
Thirty-five citizens of a town called La Dolce Vita
And closeted-in, they gave their worth
to breathe air once again.
Time is money
but living is far more.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2006

Poem

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