Sins of Gold by Daude Teel A new sun climbed atop the sands. Mudded houses sit in rows, supplanted by mighty temples—synagogues dripping red—red like the ribbons of Rome—held together by mighty men, mighty beards, dressed in white, standing by tables holding gold, tables with tablets and doves. Enough of these false men! Lizards who use His name for profit- for money! How dare they, horrid men! By their lusts we shall meet our end! Doors flew open; candles were silenced. Down the aisle roared a son. A son with no sandals, no sand and no sweat. To those who chase this, I beseech you, rebel against your sinful ways! His rage danced effortlessly throughout the room. Mountains of gold toppled. Tables tipped, twisted, then crumbled. Shocked beards—wicked men—spineless men in robes of white, wailed, screamed, cursed and wept. Our lives! Our lives! My God, our gold! Arresting his wrath, a weariness overtook him. He moved towards the fallen, weeping beards, putrid tears from polluted men. Here, he said, sweatless since the day began, he dropped on each a bag of seeds, Here, try these instead.
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Daude Teel is an aspiring poet, proet, and playwright. He has been published in multiple magazines including The Wingless Dreamer, Poets Choice, The African Writer Magazine, and has been a guest on the wonderful Poets and Muses podcast.