Fetch

Entangled by the web we weave, thoughts provoked, but, yet deceive. Passing blame with slight, of hand, a golden calf that shines so grand. An altar set, his words are praised, a barren field his flock is grazed. Thirst and hunger are seldom quenched, until at last, they all are trenched. Be careful of the book you read, a soured quill will slay your seed. Praising ink wrote down by man, is not the way and not the plan. A fleeting moment comes every hour, self-righteous deeds will soon devour. Open your eyes and see the catch, He throws the ball while you play fetch.