Part I - Pulpits
When support is mana sent,
the life blood of the politic,
dynasty's will tremble there
on the edge of future's dare.
Ideology was the source,
connector of the lesser ones.
Now the arm no longer twists
behind the backs of supplicants.
The anointed goals of yesteryear,
crusaders sent to foreign lands,
are now tarnished with decay
nurtured by broken promises.
Priests in temples made of stone
ruled with meager compromise.
Principle was held aloft,
and thus the walls crumbled down.
Pulpits that once led the way,
talking heads that bent at knee,
cannot stem the changing tide
as currents take them for the ride.
Part II - The Creature
When the goals of vocal groups,
short in number, long in words,
made most sour the common well
the people looked to a dark hero.
A creature now roams the land,
uncontrolled from faith's redoubts.
It knows the hearts of damaged souls,
draws its strength from their demise.
Never mind danger's smell,
the ugly words and inflicted wounds.
The sheep are led towards the light,
be it train or holy land.
Blaspheme would be tolerant
if the sheep were left to be.
Instead they are lead astray
from anger's controlling grace.
With the sheep there goes the flock,
with no flock the shop will flop.
The party ends with a whimper,
victim of its own shrill banter.
Part III - Roaches
The roaches will retreat
from the villagers’ vented rage.
Survival is the requisite
when power is the only game.
The creature will have its way,
dressed in silks as critics bay.
In the end the bonfire waits
for the evils brought this day.
Their masters will wait a day,
week or decade, it matters not.
Allegiances will be swapped
as regimes are overthrown.
Anger will blend to doubt,
the populace then most contrite.
They were duped by the dark forces,
victims all in pure hindsight.
A new dawn will shine its light
on both good and bad in God's hands.
The roaches will then reappear,
the Lord's work must still be done.
© 2016, Sean Green. All Rights Reserved, 20160219.