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Olugu Olugu OrjiIn fifty years if you’re not dead

Your restless feet will feel like lead 

Those hands so versed in devious cunning

Will barely hold a cup each morning


You tune your ear to every sound

And sniff around like a heated hound

A day will find you nearly deaf

A distant shadow of yourself


Those wicked, darting, lustful eyes

Have led you down the aisle of lies

The wenches of all shapes and sizes

Will be far away when judgment arises


While some must strain for what to eat

You have the whole world at your feet

The crowd that surges at you to drool

Will someday turn to call you ‘fool’


Because you piled up tons of cash

You treat your wife like a piece of trash

Harvest will be in a day or two

Someone can’t wait to be rid of you


Fouled up words gush from your mouth

Polluting the east, west, north and south

Someday you’ll crave for a little kind word

That now it seems you can ill afford


That hose that dangles betwixt your legs

Has crushed a legion of promising eggs

What was fitted for pleasurable laughter

Will soon only be fit for making water


A stitch in time they say saves nine

Spurning counsel put your life on the line

Two stitches will now mend the tear

With the potent glue of godly fear


Worm your way to where you were made

It has to be why you’re not yet dead

Dump your pride, face your fears

Bow to your Creator in penitent tears


The goat that craves to frolic loose

Will doubtless wind up in the noose 

You owe the world at least one book

The account of one left off the hook

© Olugu Olugu Orji

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