The Preacher Part1
The walls were made from old slats of wood,
That permitted the sun to prod through the gaps, where it stood.
Rows of wooden seats made in the same fashion,
Created by an artisan that seemed to lack the perfectionist’s passion.
The wind danced a waltz with the sand across the floor,
And flirted tenderly with the creaking main door.
The crowd that gathered sat patiently in the hot humid room,
Men and women fanning themselves, stirring the sand further like a broom.
The door squeaked open, flooding light in from the back,
As the tightly packed crowd parted for the man dressed in black.
He scanned the crowd in each row, that sat there,
The respect they had for him could be felt in the air.
He stepped on the stage and faced the crowd,
All were quiet, except for the child crying loud.
His mamma whispered tenderly and told her son to “hush,”
Embarrassed she looked at him on the stage and began to blush.
He open the black leather book which he had placed on the stand,
Without words, he ushered the crowd to their feet with his hand.
His sermons he preached were never rehearsed,
Where the book fell open he preached from the 16th verse.
His speech was not laced with charisma, but his words had an unusual power,
Which left his followers spellbound for over an hour.
After the sermon there was no collection, no charity, no hand out,
“God’s word is free, it’s not for sale,” he would shout.
He was loved and admired by many women,
But his will power so he thought was strong enough not to sleep with this demon.
Then it happened, on a rainy night Belle Jezza, falls in his arms and cries,
She told him of her husband’s violence, abuse and lies.
She spends hours at his home, as he listens to her plea,
Suddenly a knock on the door, the congregation sees him and Belle in her nightie.
Belle runs out screaming rape, as he faced a crowd wanting blood to shed,
They cut off his hand and feet, leaving him for dead.
It’s a week when he wakes, chained to a bed in agonising pain,
And sees a little girl looking down at the preacher that should be slain.
He looks at his stumps that have been dipped in hot tar,
She pushes his head back down and feeds him worms and locusts from a jar.
“Shhh preacher man this will make you strong,”
“A promise has been made to you and you will live long”
“The tree is in bud and then it will bloom,”
“You are to witness what is to come, to witness doom.”
“What does this all mean?” He said.
“Shhh, wait and see preacher man,” she replied fluffing the pillow under his head…
Copyright © Sidney Hall Mad Poet | Year Posted 2011
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