A man in dazzling white he was
But not the supreme being above
Though his words made cold hate thaw
All he did was preach of love

He came every Sabbath
With his endless sermons
That resurrected stillborn passions
He walked the streets daily
With his sacred book
That appraised fervent, yet tempered romance

With time, the foilsick hearts of his followers
Grew weary of his merry teachings
They yearned to be not churchgoers
To be free of his meek beseechings

So they tell him their stories
Their tales of chaotic romance
Of battered hearts and broken spirits
And it's enough to make the devil weep
But the preacher did not weep
So why should we?

© Omega O.