breaking even

it's an empty
vault with
the door open wide.
dust
and cob webs
hang in the corners,
the trace
of mice
who have come and gone,
their small
footprints
in the silken sand
of time.
a life
flickering, with nothing
to show
of value.
not a dime. no policy,
no hidden
treasure, no map
to where it might
all be buried.
breaking even at the end,
is possible,
though you suspect
you may have to chip in
for
the funeral.