I heard you preaching
Passing out poison
Peddling platitudes
From a bully pulpit
Projecting weakness
With a pointed finger
Vanity pitching fits
From a soap opera box
Revealing your hands
Soaked in the undertow
Dripping with overthrow
Of truth and consequence
High noon at twelve o’clock
Tantrum turned tragedy
A blind intersection
Crashing at the mouth
I was nowhere near
But I heard every word
From unchained echoes
Who speak only truth
And see it safely home
Across any distance
The mindful messengers
For the faithful few
Forcing the keepers
Who protect the spark
To forbid your passage
On the sacred stream
With others who aimed
To pierce the golden arc
And woke up marching
In a parade of ghosts
-Pugu Monku