The Deep And The Lord Poem by Timothy Faboade

In the dark, silent windowless room,
Where all wealth of many ages,
And the raw and refined glory zoom
Lies the soul's prison in a cage.

A room built on just six feet
Which the world can only afford
Despite the many fair fine fleet
Which is unto the world accord'd.

There in their legion, in the deep
Dug by some able arms and hands
Dwell Great termites in the creep
Ready to devour the gifts of lands.

On the gutless gifts they have a feast,
They're the Lords of the dark Empire
Which both Heaven and Hell rewires.
All fleshes are reserved for the beasts.