Low Existence

measuring
your kind of life with
the digits of your
bank account

you do not want to
spend
life anymore
you just keep it
like the money
inside your
pocket

time is cruel for you
comes the day
and you do not notice it
everything
shall be taken
in one blink of an eye

your favorite dog
will not even remember to wag its tail
when you signify
that you want to be back

everything can never be ours
our hands give way
and there are slips always

holes

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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