Monday Poetry: Not of a feather

THE first his name sank deep in mudWho quite like old Faustus to Hades his soul sold.Lost to deceit, consumed by reckless greed,He could not be turned back from his journey to shame.So blind he to the light of conscience and truth,Did the bidding of foul hearts of the order of wolvesWhose fierce lust for power blood-oceans cannot quench. Then came the second when the land called for change.Armed with integrity and a passion for truth,He guards the will of the peopleFrom thieving hands who lack conscienceSo the land can choose for themselves who would their leaders be.The good man, Jega,All ages will know earned honour by great deeds.His name set in gold on the wheels of time,Posterity will salute!
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