Those with heaps of money, made

Or born to it, though they play

With bankers, senators, with generals,

Like gods to mortals, while they

Stroll in knots through crowded halls

Where others bustle, they are judged

Rejected by what they don’t know,

And think because they can command

They are beloved. Not for long.

Time to stand up for the put-upon,

Who must believe the bad do well

Because they would be gods, as I am

Certain all of us are children

Of the Lord, but also humans

Who will die, will fall like rulers

From the high seat to a black hole:

Wake up, judge, the gods decay

And leave the earth for you.

Articles by Laurance Wieder

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