He overflows his plate with food,

anticipating taste.

He overflows his closets too

not caring of the waste.

He has to have the finest car

with leather seats and 'air'.

His bank accounts are just for him.

For poor?  He doesn't care.

Huge profits fill his bank accounts.

His profiting is fun.

He'd sell his soul to profit more.

He'd sell to anyone.

His home, he fills with furniture,

the finest he can find.

He then enjoys his fav'rite game

to ease his guilty mind.

He fills his days with everything

and his most latest whim.

And this 'enjoyment' fills his life.

He fills his life with him.

I pity such a person who

has no room in his heart -

for God or love or charity -

who fin'lly falls apart.

How guilty, lonely he will be

just days before his death.

Oh, he'll recall his life of 'self'

with his remaining breath.

©2014 louis gander