when I was a child
the grim moralists
stood in corners
dispensing dry words;
the preachers with their smooth discourses
stood on library steps
in my teenage years
hoping to ensnare
young inquisitive minds;
the propagandists blared out on stage
or got on to the stations
and delivered persuasive tones on the radio;
but nowadays
it seems
these dry moralists
these changeling preachers
these weasel propagandists
they have all changed tact
they have turned to verse
to complete unfinished business
It used to be the same here in the U.S. Pocket preachers, haha. I love the twist your poem takes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I guess one could say 'the moralists, propagandists, and preachers, are all one in the same-universal?