The Preacher
Cushioned by his holy books spoils galore
I can still remember the preacher.
A wizened being of great reverence,
a beacon of glory and righteousness.
Aptly perched high above the masses:
the sentinel of Him - the herald of G-d.
Bothered by the intensifying stench
of those unwashed. Bathed in rotten sweet muck,
the parade of revolting innocence –
with what water could we purify ourselves?
A symbol of omnipotence -
Man’s salvation.
Hallowed be thy name
for God is dead in our hearts.
And we have killed him. How shall we, murderers
of all murderers, console ourselves?
Make us believe O preacher!
Help us to attain a greater sense of
spiritualitymadnessdelusionreligion.
Sacrificial vigour brings forth
submission and the pentad
trunks of scorching wether origin.
You who Have Watched from the Heavens.
Hush! To blaspheme is a sin. Atone now!
Repent in the name of the LORD.
Yes, the messenger of all entities,
the man of a thousand voices.
Spoon feed the world with your immense
Faith. There has never been a greater deed;
for the sake of this deed he shall be part
of a higher history.
