A God for Every Soul

Who won’t pass like a shooting star through this fleeting life? I, too, will not reach the end of this dazzling strife. I’ve lived as I could, gathering what knowledge seemed right, But not a single thing will follow me into the coffin night. Perhaps I’ll leave before some, or maybe later than others, But I won’t perish like a stray dog left to shudder. If I remain pure, free from this mortal sin’s decay, The rest will be proven by the five poems I leave one day. In this deceitful, corrupt era, the righteous find no peace, Yet my soul won’t falter, nor my conscience ever cease. The devil tempts, derailing the honest from their course, But wealth and status, upon reflection, are all impure, of course. I’ve learned the tongues of every nation, seen the vast world’s scope, But failing to grasp God’s language, my heart carries sorrow’s yoke. The weak, cloaked in piety, call themselves saints of high decree, While the shameless drag revenge even from graves left in peace. Each soul claims their own god; my people have split apart, Harmony fled the hearth, corruption warped their heart. The pot’s lid has vanished, and the sustenance God bestows Is torn and snatched before it properly grows.