Screaming into crowd,
Panting between every word with rhythm like heart attack,
Accepter of millionaire's donation, rejecter of widow's mite,
Is not the good lord the potter of the two,
Blinded by the substance in brown envelope,
Your tongue rolls in tune to your most preferred faithful's,
The silent majority are your soul- bound zombies,
The expendables- ever ready at the time of inconvenience to toss our most priced at the tables of the ones in white cassock,
Not so with your hegemonious ones clothed in velvet,
They feed fat,
Prophe-lieing and pulpit profiting,
While the unpopular are recognisable from a distance with limbs lean like mangrove,
The papacy becomes a house of tables,
And our very tables the very threshold of wants,
Backs broken, hands outstretched in desperate longing for the miracle maker,
Human- gods,
Goded in manliness unto you we tearfully raise our all.
Panting between every word with rhythm like heart attack,
Accepter of millionaire's donation, rejecter of widow's mite,
Is not the good lord the potter of the two,
Blinded by the substance in brown envelope,
Your tongue rolls in tune to your most preferred faithful's,
The silent majority are your soul- bound zombies,
The expendables- ever ready at the time of inconvenience to toss our most priced at the tables of the ones in white cassock,
Not so with your hegemonious ones clothed in velvet,
They feed fat,
Prophe-lieing and pulpit profiting,
While the unpopular are recognisable from a distance with limbs lean like mangrove,
The papacy becomes a house of tables,
And our very tables the very threshold of wants,
Backs broken, hands outstretched in desperate longing for the miracle maker,
Human- gods,
Goded in manliness unto you we tearfully raise our all.
(c) Funmi Adeyemo, 2016
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