Death of a Witchdoctor

His grey, wirey beard skims a parquet floor,
As doting believers crowd at his door,
He hoards each new coin,
In a loving embrace,
This freelance salesperson,
Is devoid of disgrace..

He feigns Divine wisdom,
As he guides each new step,
Which partner to wed,
Which business deal sealed,
He elevates hands,
To ensure all are healed..

But even he with his cunning,
Could not deceive Death,
As it came to condemn him,
He fell like the rest,
And as tributes abound at a dizzying pace,
He exits the Universe,
A silenced, blank face...