God, A Decider Poem by Timothy Faboade

Unto some a nice name is given
The riches of the world they enjoy
By treasure and pleasure they're driven
Gold, silver, bronze they enjoin,
Unto them we bestow ethereal fame
They live a lustful life of their choice
They kindle kingly their riches' flame
Embellished with incense and noise.

Yet, many, ill-fated, blessed with curses,
Whose heads carry all world woes,
Are created to indigence and woes nurse,
The favoured they are to give shows,
Shows of folly, agonies, pangs and pains,
The Creator, in His Mercy, with love
Bestows them struggles of legion vains
They're to enjoy life though rough.

All are from Him, the caring, kind Lord
Unto some He faces, His blind back
For ages, such back which is broad
They pray, yet like vulture lordly lack,
Still all the riches assembled in a fold
Branded and handled over awhile
While the accursed bend before mold
And reap nothing but the best bile.