We spend all our lives,
collecting things,
making money,
wasting what little time we have.
when in the end,
all that money, and possessions, go away.
fore you are unable to bring them with,
when it is your time to go.
they are left behind,
unlike the memories you gave to others.
How true. What a wasted life we lead or follow. Slaving for others never seen and to their biding we abide. No need to fear a zombie apocalypse, it's already here. We're living it. Like a survivor I have to creep around, for my fear of them turning on me, and devouring my very being. Good poem.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
What. Memories can be collected, and many if not all memories are greatly involved with money: movies, vacations, road-trips, concerts, parties, dinners, etc. The emotional journeys of people often depend upon money... Also, many items become of significance due to the memories, whether people, places, or events, associated with them. Even so, I agree that the lives of far too many people are based upon material goods and meaningless routines, as countless people struggle to satisfy their endless wants and miss who and what are truly important in their lives.