The inner sea which has its flow

Ante mortem let us trust
For in the grave we turn to dust.
Yet while  in life the poor are cursed
Our treatment post mortem is just.

The worms and beetles care no more
For the rich than for the poor.
They are happy to devour
Bankers,despots,every hour.

Ante mortem, greed does win.
Houses built of gold and sin.
But God,who lives in each within,
Cares no more for gold than tin

If post mortem we are judged
Why does the rich person grudge?
Why do we refuse to budge
Right until that final nudge?

Throw away your heavy goods
Live like daisies by the woods..
Fear not hurricane nor floods
Bright daises grow even in mud.

More dependent on all power,
We trust in madmen's city towers.
Yet  we were told to live like flowers...
And enjoy  this life for an hour.

Perception is no privilege.
We each have the wits to judge.
See and note where you have smudged
What your creation would allege.

Post and ante, even now
The currents of our hearts allow...
The inner sea which has its flow
To take us where we need to go.