Untitled Poem by Ill Gatto

In the mornings
When you wake
Consider this; (well)
You know it already
That the life you're gave
Is for a while.
Why then can't you help him up
And along on his way or
Unburden her by virtue
Of your blessings.
Help a fella today
That a fella might help you too
For nothing is certain and the morrow is unsure
It may well be your last hour of importance
What do you know?
O ye who is but dust
Why thinkest thou so highly of thyself,
Thou art nothing and thou knowest this
Thou seeset the man in despair and thou looketh on
And the homeless and thou payest them no mind
Thou art naught but ash to which thou shall return
And on that day when you check into that ground floor
Into that 8 by 3 room from which there's no checking out
There will be no gloom
No tear.