A rich man is nothing but a poor man with money.


Your life bound

By the varnished teak walls,

The azure sky

My grand plafonds


Your acrylic face,

Hangs in a gilded frame

My portrait flashes through minds

I don’t even have a name


Your work, dreams, commitments and lies

Stay welded to your spine

My scruffy coat and beating heart

Are all I claim mine


While you spend nights, in plush velvet beds

Recalling ancient memories of sleep;

I’m dreaming of utopia

On the cold cobblestone streets


You watch the tiny, twinkling city

But through misted glass panes

Every night is a party,

But every night is the same


Your feet don’t touch the soil

They don’t walk the winding roads

I’m one with the picture

Outside your window


I’m sipping on sweet country springs

Feasting on fresh fruit and grain

You grab chalky granola bars

Toast to good health with champagne


Your custom three piece

Chaperoned to dull charity dinners

While I’m high on spirited talk,

Courtesy – streetlights and strangers


Worry of what you don’t have today

Worry of what tomorrow will bring

The sun shines bright, the grass is green

And I’m doing my Highland fling


You walk by me and mutter a prayer

Saying, God be kind to me

But I’m as happy as ever

While you haven’t smiled in weeks


So can you blame my ignorance?

When I don’t understand?

Why they all want to be you

and why they call you the richer man


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