Epic poem chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT   (Actions and Consequences)
When life is here we live in fear          
            Afraid that we will die,
But when we’re dead and life is fled
            We’re left to wonder why—
We lived with fears and wasted years
            In never-ending doubt,
And never took the time to look
            And find our futures out.
 
This truth is worst for humans forced
            To spend their deaths in hell,
But even they who get away
            Don’t always do it well.
You’d think the youths who knew the truths
            Would learn before they’re old,
That ev’ry snore will cost them more
            Than pots of bullion gold.
 
If you believed the Maker grieved
            Each time you did a sin,
Then would you not give half a thought
            To stifling lusts within?
If deeds of worth you did on Earth
            Would help the second you,
Could you at least before you’ve ceased
            Find something good to do?
 
Now many say there is no way
            The Christian God exists,
And that is why they live and die
            For stuffing mouths and fists.
But others here will claim He’s near
            And call Him by His name,
But when you watch the lives they botch
            You see them act the same.
 
Now some of these are refugees
            With half-way fears of hell.
From where they stand they have no plan
            For living very well.
I dare suspect the lives they’ve wrecked
            Are witness to the fact,
That though they try to hide the lie,                      
            They’ve never joined the pact. 
 
The lives they lead are full of greed
            Though simple they may be.
The times they spend display a trend
            Of living pointlessly.
And though they’ve missed they still insist
            That God controls their lives,
But those they tell they’re doing well
            Need only ask their wives.
 
They waste away their lives of clay
            When diamonds should be there.
Whose polished grace reflects through space
            The colors in the air.
The Christian life should not be rife
            With mutant lusts and needs,
But when it’s true it sparkles through
            With truly selfless deeds.
 
The human soul is dark as coal          
            With greed and vice at length.
Although it longs to right its wrongs,
            It somehow lacks the strength.
But those who vowed they’ve been endowed
            With power from above;
Should represent, with drive unbent,
            God’s mercy, peace, and love.
 
For through their eyes they’ve seen the lies
            Of money, sex, and fame.
For they as well had dreams of hell
            While struggling blind and lame.
But when their fate became too great
            To face in flesh alone,
They hearts were saved from what they craved
            By power not their own.
 
Our God will help the needy whelp
            Who cannot help himself.             
Who’s learned he must decline to trust
            The trophies on his shelf.
The soul who knows what bitter throes
            His moral life is in,
Will take the knee and ask that He
            Will save him from his sin.
 
For heaven’s world cannot be filled
            With proud and pompous folks,
Who claim they’re in because their sin
            Is less than common blokes.
They love to dine and sip their wine
            Assured they’re doing well;
But God is just who knows he must
            Release them into hell.
 
But those instead among the dead      
            Who rise to heaven’s gate,
Are they who lunged and took the plunge
            Aware they must not wait.
The horrid crimes they did at times
            Are paid and now ignored;            
But what they do from now on through
            Results in their reward.
 
 
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