Parable Poetry

Rookie (03/25/76 / Huntington, WV)

Middle -6- Man - Poem by Parable Poetry

A man standing above the crowd,
his podium his first defense,
his words his holy confusion.
Longing to be one with the crowd,
droping your given offense,
causing your divinity delusion.

Absorbing all that you hear,
believing all that he shows,
he has gained control of you.
Frightened from his fear,
learning all that he knows,
making his lies become true.

Conquering, always wanting more,
sending around his greedy plate,
giving you a sense of security.
Black, white, rich or poor,
paying your way through the gate,
money to wash away impurities.

Drowning you in his empty water,
giving in, letting him take control,
another part of this process.
Now you are closer to the father,
now you have security for your soul,
now beginning to make progress.

Every step you take, you must have him,
you need him to show you the way,
never can you do this all alone.
He can cure you from every sin,
just listen to every word he says,
infectious seed, systematically grown.

Not stoping, working for your offspring,
neverending, forever living on,
the only way you can get within.
Only way you know to make the soul sing,
searching for your way to become one,
still not knowing the words to his hymn.

Wesley Hall - 09/24/05


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Poem Submitted: Friday, April 18, 2008



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