We’re all chewing on something,
grit between teeth, hands raw from the dig—
the rich in their suits of silk,
the poor in yesterday’s clothes,
both scratching at walls they can’t see through.
Some days, the rich man chases shadows,
filling rooms with things he’ll never touch,
and nights he stares at the ceiling,
the emptiness echoing back.
The poor man clenches his hands,
dreams of bread, shoes without holes,
a bit of peace he can hold.
He fights just to stand still,
caught in the snare of the same old fight.
Money buys rooms but not rest;
hunger gives grit but not ease.
It’s a dance of the famished and fed,
each of us chasing what the other one holds.
We claw at the earth, reach for the sky,
driven by something sharp and deep,
the push of never enough,
the pull of one day it might be.
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This observation should not detract a whit from the fact that this piece is lovely, a well balanced, expertly crafted and tightly constructed paean to the eternal (and eternally mysterious) human soul . Thank you for sharing it with us.