The Selfish Sermon

In the halls of power, where voices rise and fall,

A truth often whispered, a secret to all.

"You are not a prophet," they say with a smirk,

"Only what benefits you, you'll ever work."

The world spins on, a stage for the play,

Where every actor seeks their own way.

To preach and to promise, to lead and to guide,

But in the end, it's self-interest that won't hide.

For every word spoken, every deed done,

Is measured by gain, by what can be won.

The heart may be pure, the intentions good,

But in the end, it's the self that's understood.

So let us be wary of those who claim to know,

The path to salvation, the seeds to sow.

For in the end, it's our own hands that shape our fate,

And in our own hearts, we must contemplate.

The balance of power, the scales of desire,

In every choice made, in every fire.

To seek what's true, what's just, what's right,

Is to walk a path that's often out of sight.

So let us remember, as we journey through life,

That we are not prophets, but seekers of strife.

To find what benefits us, to carve our own way,

In this vast world where we all must stay.