measuring <br />your kind of life with <br />the digits of your <br />bank account <br /> <br />you do not want to <br />spend <br />life anymore <br />you just keep it <br />like the money <br />inside your <br />pocket <br /> <br />time is cruel for you <br />comes the day <br />and you do not notice it <br />everything <br />shall be taken <br />in one blink of an eye <br /> <br />your favorite dog <br />will not even remember to wag its tail <br />when you signify <br />that you want to be back <br /> <br />everything can never be ours <br />our hands give way <br />and there are slips always <br /> <br />holes<br /><br />RIC S. BASTASA<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/low-existence/
