God’s hands fold
Fighting with innocent lives
Knowing they have a hold
Blackmailing into cancellation of their oath in the archives
They show their wolfish side
And care not about their sheepy presentation
Lives they swore to protect to maturity
Now rush through the colander of death
But their hands are still folded

They are like the mats suddenly grown thorns
Gunning for the blood of the tired farmer
The tired farmer who works for their good
They are like hunters hunting their children
Under silly illusions to please their wives
They are like masons pulling down their buildings
While they live in them
Forgetting they are no stones

Yes, the great seat shows cheating
Yes, the great seat may be sinking monies
On the boats they are shaping
But which wood needs metals
To clash and endlessly chime and dig
On grounds of unbalanced creation needed to term?
Who craves money
By washing hands with blood?
Who craves attention by pouring what can never be retrieved?
Who craves money using God’s hands?
Whatever we promise to do
However we do it
Whenever we fail to do
An automatic register records
As a Judge awaits defaulters
Who are held accountable for their crimes

So go on and sieve beings
Sieve beings for your selfish needs
Sieve beings knowing you are no stones
Sieve beings for papers of exchange
Sieve beings by acting “Gods”
Because He lent you minds and hands
Know all idealists claim there is only one God
There is a sound which will call
Call for accountability
So drain blood like hungry vampires
Be sure to save them
For you will need them to swim in hell
When the heat becomes unbearable
Amoafowaa Sefa Cecilia (c) 2015

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