Who will purchase the planet,
From he who holds the deed,
Complete with conveyance
To the cosmos,
There, to be alone with his greed?
And why can he not understand,
The vile nature
Of his never-ending wealth,
And how can he be
 So completely depressed,
While obsessed with only himself?

Raise your feeble eyes
And gaze into the night time sky,
Envisage
Your triviality,
All the while knowing,
That your touch
Displaces the fabric of the universe,
And creates a rhythm,
Distinctly you,
For better or worse,
That tattoos the galaxy,
With what you would lend it
For eternity.
And the universe knows you,
And claims you as its very own,
Begging your honor,
Pleading with your essence,
To sacrifice for the common good;
For without what you might offer
As benevolent gift,
We are diminished
In the totality of what is,
For we are all vital,
And permanent,
And what we contribute,
Will add luster to our suns,
Or will rust,
In the dank, cold outreaches
Of the nether worlds.