To the Rich Man
Are you frightened of dying?
Do you fret about camels and needles' eyes
And donate money as insurance?
(Insurance is a mortal conception, you know.)
After, you'll exchange one blanket of green for another
Will the new give more peace than the old?
To the Poor Man
Do you long for death?
Finality, security, warmth
Do you wish for such permanence?
To have peace and quiet and darkness
To finally be away from the crush of grasping, greasy people
To have you hollows filled, even if they're filled with dirt?
To the Average Man
Do you ignore death?
Do you hide it behind curtained rooms and plastic bags
And freezer doors and the scent
You don't fear death
You believe you'll work forever
So why, then
Do you fear pain?