God hands to each, an unlike plan for man:
Some to the seas, the rivers, they descend.
Some live as foes to God, and some as friends;
To each his own plan, his blessing or ban!
And one is saint, another courtesan;
One is lazy, the other robust to the end.
Of all God’s children, he gives command:
Either you are with the devil, or his plan.
But Death, God, has prearranged for us all,
Be you buried in a vault’s deep core
Or in some unbending prison walls!
No matter in what pit man lies, he sleeps
Even if deep in the Drake, or on its shores:
To that, where ten-thousand voices weep.
No: 4473 ((Poetic Prose) (7-17-2014))
