Unexamined Lives

the clock speaks louder than souls do  

lost between cocktails and leaky pipes  

we stagger into jobs, clutching hours  

chasing a fading piece of bread.  

the wise-man's corner sits empty now—  

he moved when we plastered neon signs  

and began looking for God in mirrors  

where only smudges and ghosts reply.  

what fools demand is always out there,  

a gleaming horizon to nowhere special,  

but the wise know: death sits quietly,  

smoking cigarettes, watching the show.  

the unexamined life, they’ll tell you,  

is cheap rent in an endless eviction  

and each day we pay with silence,  

pretending the cracks don't exist.