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Prophets for Profit

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One commonality I’ve noticed

Is that, people love to tell others

Not to subscribe to another’s bullshit

But watch, and listen to their own.

Another commonality I’ve noticed

Is that, these same people

No matter how delusional

Will acquire followers like sheep to a Shepard.

And they do it warmly, and with a smile.

And they’ll agree with you entirely.

They’ll make you feel safe.

They’ll tell you what to see and how to see it,

Treating you like their own personal parlor trick.

Their greatest illusion will be their acceptance.

While the bullshit they feed

In return for a profit—they’ll make themselves

The prophet—which they need to feel sound.

One commonality I’ve noticed

Is that, people who can’t be alone

Will do everything it takes not to be alone

Even when that means taking you with them.

They will win your will, with or without your consent.

They will make it feel like your own choice

To gain your trust, and dissolve you of fear.

Though fear isn’t always a negative—

Often it’s a tell tale sign—so

These commonalties I’ve noticed

Are geared to my liking, but at least

I’ve got the peasants fortune to tell you

That, prophets for profit will always be cunning.

And though wolves wear many clothes,

So do Shepards.

Being silly on my Soap Box Tree, Jan. 2021

My work it shall begin

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We are safe because we want to feel safe

And afraid because we allow ourselves to fear

All throughout the life I’ve know I’ve accepted what was

Hardly ever asking myself the real question, that is

What exactly do you want to be

Do you want to be loved? Feared? Saved?

Am I making myself clear?

Like standing by the railing of a ferry boat adrift

Looking out into the fog of early mornings spent

Nervous though I was, a child full of dread

Patiently awaiting the comfort darkness fed

Full of all my longings, too scared to make a sound

Reeling for the guidance, waiting to be found

But it wasn’t until I spoke the words

Which have placed me here today

And I wouldn’t place the blame where there is nothing left to blame

I could have got out long before that house we knew burnt down

I could have run away, what’s more

I could have made a sound

Though fear and faith are binding

For a child guilt is hard

And safety commonly looks like

A smile from afar

But now I’m counting crows, who’ve eaten all the crumbs

And as for beanstalks stalking, I’ve cut down every one

To grandma’s house goes Red, she no longer has to run

The piglets in their cabin, I hear they’re having fun

Released into the willows are fairytales Grimm

Now safe my inner child’s sound

My work it shall begin