False Prophet

A poem in free verse

Overloaded with the vision,

I spill parables,

seen through the incision,

of the all seeing eye,



They dribble the chin,

dragged up on the sins,

they douse,



Through the orifices,

Of my inner self,

On revelations,

I gift their wealth,

in my wisdom,



Spewed at length,

words falling,

from stylising tongue,

which finds its calling,

in the hearts and minds,

at which it lunges,

In direction of the earmarked,

whose transgressions,

it expunges,



Through snarling teeth,

verses howl,

beyond the scabby muzzle,

a jowl,

covered,

by lambskin fleece,

to mask the beast,

I secrete beneath,



taming the bleat,

a mimicked sound,

where I nuzzle,

my snout,

to confound,

the crowd,



Spouting all they need to hear,

to the ear,

that follows,

where I lead,



Sheep indeed,



I breed,

In them,

for my own purposes,

in this new world,

ruled by bandits and warlords,

which loot and horde,

there is no safety,

but in number,

they need a saviour,

to shake them from their slumber,

granting salvation,



If they choose,

to heed my word,

then who is to blame?

I did not ask for fame,

or reverence,

all I wanted,

was to be heard,

and if I found the right instrument,

which stirred,

emotion,

Does that mean this is unjustified devotion?

Or, am I as good as real,

To make them feel,

the things they want to feel?



We all have learned behaviour,

I too,

from the books,

which I savour,

verse by verse,

until it insatiably became my curse,

and my gift,

the pace grew swift,

till I devoured,

growing fat and overpowered,

word by word,

now, instead of just being heard,



I lead the herd,



The internet has fallen,

technology has regressed,

everything which I detest,



No longer do we mine for oil,

companies which existed to corrupt the soil,



– gone,



In the year of our lord, 2158,

The consensus is – it’s too late,

to save the past,

the time has passed,

and they are right,

now, at last,

The second coming is upon us,



Repent!



For making this earth ill…

all I really want…



Is to continue,

beyond the devastation,

and torn sinew,

growing anew,

– not to rebuild,

we must leave the past behind –

For the few,

To reap the yield,

in clean, unadulterated earth,



For this mission,

a rebirth,

of a prophet,

make of it what you will,

a true messiah or a scam?

Am I the wolf

or, am I the lamb,

Of God?



In Gods new world,

there’s room for both,

to run free,

that is his oath,



To think –

Christ would grace this land,

this Jerusalem,

– Gods will and command –

where buildings crumble,

in the aftershock,

of World War 3,

why has God chosen me?



The balconies are lined,

remnants of humankind,

hear my oration,

deliverance from damnation,

echoing through the shell,

where commerce used to dwell,

– a mall,

let silence fall,

when I speak,

is this the truth that you seek?



…to nodding heads,

once happy to consume,

until their world was bled,

buried,

exhumed,



We rise!



Once hidden,

we consume each other in the open,

on the broken,

bones of society,

fractured,

we heal,

stronger,

set on the wound as callus,



Rejoice!



I have been given the sight,

Together,

my flock,

we walk into the light…


The promised land, of tomorrow.

Poem by © Darius the Mate

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Written for dVerses Open Link Night.

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Playing with Words