EPITAPH
He walked in money,
Sowed his power,
Shriveled many lives with his touch.
His women were toys;
Ornaments, nothing more.
They had their uses
And when they were used
He was done with them.
His friends were as flies feeding on his greed.
He owned their souls.
Went out to a fancy dinner one night and
Choked to death on a chicken bone.
The Breath returned his soul to the One,
To dwell on a world without a sun.
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