The Prophet
The prophet
In the dark,
Winters tale
A daze in mirage,
he can tell,
The bed he clasp,
In victory glee,
Forever fun
Victorious, it seems,
The last groan,
Love fell,
Blank stare,
Sin spell
Sermon call,
believers praise,
Voices scream,
happy tears,
Hallowed prophet,
Vessel divine.
The woods stare,
lover’s hair lay,
Sad hearts,
lips sought to say,
Nay, “witches tale,
lie in thy bosom”,
Hallowed prophet,
Hold no sinful sway.
Sycophant snare,
Believers dwell,
They bow
They choke,
To taste his shadow,
But the dark lies,
Lover’s secret.
Hidden lust,
Whispered truths,
His darkness wears,
a sacred mask.
The prophet,
Serpent holds,
The truth he tell,
“I see your misery,”
“In my Holy hands,”
“Thy fortune lies”.
Future he trades,
In gold coins,
Hallowed vessel,
Faith bartered,
On velvet palms.
Veil of light,
Mask of shadow.
Blind hearts gather,
Eyes wide with longing,
Clutching conjured visions,
Like shadows dancing
On empty walls.
Candles flicker,
voices chant,
Every blessing,
A counterfeit,
Every prayer,
A coin’s echo,
Every tear,
A step nearer his throne.
The woods watch,
silent witnesses,
The wind carries,
Whispers of truth,
Buried in hearts,
“Almighty judge all”,
Cowardly deceit
Blinded faith,
Golden cage.
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