sleep beckons and the morrow,
No end to the grind,
for the earth does not yield its harvest willingly
Toil it shall be
wither pleasure be
for the rewards that trickles in
Pray then that fortune comes
but heaven remains silent
for what are we
but mere gnats on the earth
It was once said either you love Thee or mammon
but without the flow of coins
Thus what are we to do?
Seek ye first the kingdom of God,
And all things will be added on to you?
Then why is it not ocurring
That toil cannot bring forth the fortune
For the smooth flow of liquidity?
Why quote Malachi
when it is followed
and yet holes are still found?
So where is the abundance
promised but unseen
for I grow weary of uninspiring toil
To wonder why blessings withheld
For my toil ends up on undeserving charity
Such is my bane that boon eludes me
Enough of sorrows
For tomorrow awaits
For hope and faith be the key to unlocking the floodgates