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Poem: Prophecy

I could be a prophet,
casting my words to the wind,
speaking of the unrighteous heart
cloaking itself
in the shrouds of God
to excuse its greed
and hate
and lust
and indifference.

I could be a prophet
and foretell
of the bowls of woe
spilled upon the earth,
the sea,
the air,
all wrought by the hand
of men,
human grasping,
no angels required -
just greed
and lust
and indifference
sanctified
by a god they created
in their own image,
twisted caricature
of a preacher who was put to death
because he spoke
against the greed
and lust
and indifference
of his own era.

But who would listen?

Who would hear
the irony,
who would believe the tale
of how in their lust,
their greed,
their indifference
thinking themselves holy,
they have become
the Antichrist
of their own nightmares?

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