Once a rich man now not so much.
He fell over his own feet into a rock.
Can’t get out. Can’t even see how.
How did he fall into the rock, you say?
He lost his money and so was made porous
to tragedy.
He fell onto the rock assuming
it would pass through
and instead he was absorbed.
So now he’s a poor man in a rock. He’s not alone
in there and he feels a little trapped
but he’s making do until he dies which he has determined
will be his only way out. But he’s OK with that.
He won’t be rich but he’s OK with that now too
now that the granite walls are feeling more homey.
He’s glad he’s not alone mostly. He remembers
being rich. It was good but there were horrors too
based on the money being such a big armor and cushion
that he felt under attack all the time. No more. He’s in the rock
because of how soft and transparent the money had made him.
He thinks he’s more rock himself now.
Better this way around than the other
way around. He might have become a jerk
if he’d come into the money late.
Better to have entered the rock
poor and soft at his age
so being with these people became a community.
You say he might be a jerk now because of his memory
of being rich and having a certain power. Maybe.
But would he have these friends and family now?
He thinks sometimes he’d like to be rich again
but when he thinks of how soft and invisible he once was
to others, he smacks his hand in joy upon his wall.
Dark Matter 