Manufactured God

Once upon a time, glorious man ruled this world,

Blessed he was with brains, beauty, knowledge & culture.

Till throw away all his bounty he did,

And enslave himself to his own creation sordid –

Money.

Now money determines what and where we read,

Or if we’ll end up as bums on the street.

Money decides how many days we breathe,

Or die waiting in line for free public facilities.

Money it takes for our daughters to wed.

Money determines which of a pauper’s offspring is fed.

Money too for the offerings to our bigoted Gods.

Money for donations, admissions, favours and rewards.

Money buys the marble on your tomb,

Or die in an unmarked pit – nameless, forgotten, cold, alone.

When happiness, tears, and love have a price too,

Why then must we need ancient gods to pay homage to?

Thus burn your incense at the altar of money;

Mankind now survives on a manufactured God.

How’s that for irony?