Awakened from a dream of violence,
Dogs and roosters break the silence,
And the occasional driver's headlights glow,
It's Sunday morning but they don't know,
That Christ is risen,
His life's been given.
The man in my dream was not a shepherd,
And could no more change than could a leopard,
His spots a con man's sleight-of-hand,
No fear of God, nor yet of man,
Would change his plan,
Would stay his hand.
So slick and sly his presentation,
His motive clear: self-preservation.
For what does one have if not one's soul?
And a vision plan, and an action goal.
To preserve the base,
To abate The Chase.
He gives us bread, but not of life,
His processed kids, his trophy wife,
The facade we've all seen, all our life.
A veneer you couldn't slice with a knife,
Is anything there?
Does anyone care?
Comments