Their Last Resorts.

Their Last Resorts.

©-MFB III

 

 


Envy not the rich and idle
soon enough many of

their stock markets,
will become cattle calls

under the prod of demons.


Their pampered flesh

like ticker tape,

branded black and red
as they are spit out into

the gaping bowels of hell.


Not men who were often

charitable and graced mankind
with wealth's blessings passed down,
but those greed infested

aristocrats who made
money their god, and

worshipped the fatted calf.


Those slave-masters of

minimum wage laborers.
Those addicted to success,

abandoning their families
in the pursuit of more capital,

trod-ding on the backs
of the underlings as they

scrabbled to the top.


They shall know the opposite

after their fine lives expire,
They will dwell in abject

poverty in hovels of horror.


Forever tormented,

craving the simpler things,
like the scent of a flower,

too often passed by.


The sweet smile of a son,

long neglected,
a lazy Sunday morning

spent with the wife,
rather than on a jet

to a meeting.


They will take

stock in regret,
and liquidate their

sorrows in tears.

"It is easier for a camel

to get through the eye of a needle

than for a rich man to get into heaven." (New Testament -verse # unknown)

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