Your Strawman walks a hidden, ghostly path.
He isn’t real to the touch or human, and yet
You’ll find his likeness splashed across
The wounded nations of the world;
His secrets deeply embedded in the net.
A contrivance, a grievous error;
And yet you never knew he lived;
An imaginary vessel lost on a misty sea,
One day you’ll wake, and undertake
The steps to send him to its depths, like me.
He is you, but enslaved, you never knew;
And yet he never was alive or a body made.
He stole your life’s inheritance.
The day that you were born, the debt was laid.
Your parents signed away your riches and
Your life unknowingly, in their trusting ignorance.
One world, one coin, a religion does not make.
Because you are the living, breathing woman or man,
You are real, and born upon the sovereign land.
It’s time to claim your rightful place.
Your Strawman is the heinous fake.
God bless the Pope! “MOTU PROPRIO!”
He saw the truth and battled darkness with the Light.
In 2013 when He claimed His Sovereignty
The story was buried in the dead of night,
But some of us did see.
Awake, arise! No more compromise!
We are all tired of the banker’s lies.
No more trusting, ignorant slaves without hope.
“MOTU PROPRIO!”, cried the Pope.
Copyright © Chula Fleming | Year Posted 2017