A poem
We don’t own shit.
Give me a sandwich today
and I’ll give it back to you, the next
- we don’t own shit.
We don’t own money.
We don’t own ideas.
We can’t spell out our thoughts
without borrowing language.
Remember their face? Barely.
Salt in water, dissolving.
The taste of success fades.
So too, the fear of failure.
The factory of dreams
working through the heart of night.
We don’t own the night
or, light.
Your tan is ageing you.
Killing you.
Bodies change with time.
Faces change with time.
Time changes with season.
At the closing of March
an hour is stolen.
We are mere clockmakers
they, the wards on our wing.
We don’t own time. Time owns us.
There’s a landlord out there waiting to rent you a spot in the ground
earthbound dwellers
bugs, and microbes
lining up to eat your flesh
far from being dead
the cornerstone of an ecosystem
teeming with life
the snout of the wind
snuffling the ground with seeds
your truffle, gas in a box
new growth above
bending to the sun
smell the roses, dear friend
whilst you still can
and enjoy the parade.
© Darius the Mate 05-01-2022
Written for Shay’s Word Garden.
Wordplay Pathway https://nicecissist.blog
nicecissist 
Oh wow, Darius, you have bowled me over with this one. TRUTH! I can see you reading this at a poetry slam. I saw something today on fb where a contraption of some sort was clipped on to fungi to tap into the electrical pulses in them and converted to sound. The fungi were singing. When I read this part:
“earthbound dwellers
bugs, and microbes
lining up to eat your flesh”
I thought of it. The fungi are singing our death celebration songs. Thank you writing this poem and sharing it. It truly is inspirational.
LikeLiked by 1 person
– bowled over, too, by the comment, Lisa, thank you. I’ve never read a poem to an audience. I do think I might try it this year. Really touched you connected with this one.
LikeLiked by 1 person
You’re welcome, and I hope you do.
LikeLiked by 1 person
We down own shit, but too often we let shit own us. Love, Love, Love this poem!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you so much, Susie ☺️☺️
LikeLike
I really enjoyed this
LikeLiked by 1 person
Very glad you did, JYP 😄. Thank you for the comment.
LikeLike
As the philosopher once said, time may change me, but I can’t change time. Not even in March. You have popped a lot f people’s ego balloons with this one, Darius. I wondered what all those pins in your hatband were for!
LikeLiked by 3 people
📌 😉
LikeLike
how uplifting! 😉
💝
David
LikeLiked by 2 people
So, you’re telling me this DIDN’T give you a warm and fuzzy feeling? 😮
LikeLiked by 1 person
🤭
LikeLiked by 1 person
i used to have a biology teacher who used to say the redwoods and the galapagos island turtles are laughing at us, our short term perspective, the mad dash to our own death. and this poem is laughing at us, our ideas of “ownership”, this poem redinds us that we are born with nothing and take nothing with us when we die. we don’t even own our lives, we are only renting… great poem, very well said.
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you, Phillip. Your summary reflects perfectly the notion behind the poem. I appreciate you leaving me a comment, and am truly grateful you connected with the message. I wrote this poem hoping for exactly that.
LikeLike
Day of the dead, indeed. Another sobering journey into the netherworld. Thanks for leaving me a comment …. I am on a poetry sabbatical of sorts … will continue reading the best of the best of the rest.
LikeLiked by 2 people
FYI, my comments often end up in spam when posting at blogspot, for some reason.
I appreciate your lovely comment, Helen, thank you.
LikeLiked by 1 person