Writing Checks You Can't Cash Poem by Kurt Philip Behm

Do you live your whole life,
in a partially filled space

Do you swear up and down,
about reasons defaced

Do you sing in a choir,
where the music has died

Do you brand all as liars,
as your knots are untied

Do you rob from the master,
—just to steal from the slave

Do you live in a mansion,
built on top of your grave

Do you look for direction,
on trails hollow and thin

Does your soul beg correction,
torn away from within

Do you begin every sentence,
tracing back to the past

Do you live every moment,
—writing checks you can't cash

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March,2016)