Merry Missive To A Tartuffian Televangelist Poem by Paul Kesler

Take care what you disclose
in your customary pose,
for the feisty rats of rumor
and the spiders of surprise
may dishevel your disguise,
and your powers of profusion
will provide you no solution
to the worries and the woes
and the wily wind that blows
from your agitated person
as your indigestion worsens
and the ghost you’ve given up
drains the liquor from your cup.

So heed the words I’ve spoken,
that whatever fate betokens
for the future of your folly
and your bouts of melancholy,
that the very thing you count upon
to clamber up and mount upon
may channel you posthaste
to a land of frozen waste,
and the light that ends the tunnel
could be nothing but a funnel
to divert your high condition
through the dungeons of perdition,
and your dithyrambic tongue
may just finally be hung
from the rafters of your pride
where the only thing beside
Is the laughter that has died.