Curses

Good works, like a father to his children, you had performed. Their life, like honeybees preparing their comb, you had formed. Days and nights, in their struggles, you had participated. Yet, their blind faith and belief in false gods you had hated. To Bethsaida, you said that it should repent from its ways. Would plants and shrubs that hide under trees feel the spring sun's rays? They had bogged down in whirls of sins and never repented. Trespasses in them, like fine poison in hemlock, fermented. Indifference, like stale sewage, brewed in Capernaum. In senseless pleasures, they had lost their equilibrium. They fled from your friendship as though phasmophobia. In musings of mundane mammon, they found euphoria. Lack of faith and panic to change had taken their deep roots. You shook their shoots and roots to make them bring forth righteous fruits.