There is a great god called money
Who builds his palace on the grave of men
Thrones of honour from the bones of his sons
In his goblet flows the blood of his devotees
On his table scatters the skulls of his priests

He is the silent yearning in the hearts of the young
The secret worries in the eyes of the old

He is the chains belting the waist of giants
The pride in the staffs of kings

A principality of hell
A deity of holy grounds

Kind without kindness
Hurts without hurting

The untameable love of things that glow
Makes the untutored hands of the boy fondle with the burning touch

The fanatic hunger for things so scarce
Makes the wise tucks his cloak of knowledge into the fire

Money kills those it heals
Chains those it frees

That is the only god I know
Worshiped by men of all religion

© Olatuja Oloyede