Hell Is The Home? Poem by Abednego Oghenechovwiere Omashone

I was the host, for he came to my post
To tell of a home above where all are doves.
The story has been told and millions in the fold.
Let your steps be bold, so you'll be of the household of gold.
Think not of things below but set your eyes above:
Beyond the clouds, there is your home of gold
Things below weary the soul and men grown cold.
Sow no seed here! They'll rot_ look above!
In the fold, there I know HELL is the home
For no gold here, I've got to enrich the fold.
HELL is my home?