The Preacher

The pulpit is the culprit
For there the preacher sits,
There the preacher speaks
And seeks acceptance, are
His words few? Does pleasure
Press renew on his desires,
On his memories—does he
Live with his tragedies?
When he speaks it reeks
Of pride, it reeks of selfish
Hide and seek—now God
Appears in the flesh to
Mesh with us—to be near,
For us to not be alone—
He was tempted, he was
Rejected, he was still human
With that golden crown he
Wore and bore the sins he
Did, the atonement is payment,
Payment for me—now does
The preacher speak of this,
Does he apologize for his
Harsh ways—or am I listening
To the wrong person, am I
Just me listening to me,
Am I just me framing my
Words for me? Tossed to
And fro most do go,
And these ears itch for
Peace, for safety, but then
There should be my sudden
Destruction—speak to the
Preacher God, let his pulpit
Have your eye!

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