© 19 February 2004, The Griot Poet
This piece originates from... a lot of pain. Pain I am growing out of daily.
I give to those who have suffered pain as I have suffered it at the hands of those whom you've placed your trust in. You are not alone.
I
did not know
the pulpit
was a
Weapon of Mass Destruction!
I
thought
it was your
function
to deliver
the Word of God.
I find
it odd that
intimate conversations
has become
your revelation
from on high!
I
pitch and
falter as
I spy
the altar filled
with gullible
souls
absorbing your
vitriol
as manna from
Heaven; your words
a bread of leaven.
Not knowing
you've thrown
down the
gauntlet in
a pitched
battle of
spoken words
like dueling
hip-hop
stars,
verbosity
slicing
literary
and literal
scars,
the by-product
of your
clever
shtick!
And,
I
don't give a
lick
if this hurts
your feelings:
since
your attacks
sent my senses
reeling;
as a writer
I OUGHT to
have FUN with
this!
I will not
chase your bitter
pill with the
putrid swill
of hate:
before my own
mother conceived
me,
I was known
and wonderfully
fashioned by
the same
Designer
whose Word
you TWIST
to berate me!
(Jim Jones would be so PROUD of you!)
I
did not know
the pulpit
was a
Weapon of Mass Destruction!
This is MY podium!
You
don't know
what you've
started!
As a writer
and poet filled
with aught,
I ought to
know also
how to
decipher
and use
INNUENDO!
