I brought to thought as I wrote,
sought to quote,
a mind soaked in Moët tots and rot—
a preacher richer than the creature
he claims he can suture.
Emotional bloodbath,
wrath and sloth
in the path of the man of the cloth.
Moth disguised as butterfly.
We pry. We know he's sly.
Cry as he tries to apply
the usual techniques we won’t buy.
Blames his blood,
floods his clouds,
mounds of lies, plies the miles,
shit that attracts the flies.
Dyes his lies with little ounces of truth
in that booth—
Bible references of Ruth,
claims he can soothe,
like tooth—
remove that curse
and the hearse
he sees and says in his verse.
About the Creator
Mischief Muchaneta
A geek but I turn green when I write. I dabble in short prose and poetry. A quiet STORM…
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Comments (2)
Your poetry is a stunning reflection of your inner world. Each line is filled with depth and insight, inviting readers to explore complex emotions. The rhythm and flow are so beautifully crafted, making your work a pleasure to read. Keep sharing your extraordinary talent with us!
This writing is pretty wild. It's hard to follow exactly what you're getting at here. You seem to be taking aim at a preacher, calling him out for being full of lies and using false techniques. I'm curious what inspired you to write this. Is there a specific preacher or situation that led to these thoughts? And how do you think someone like that could change their ways if they're so set in their falsehoods?