Inaction… Standing still as th’cold stone stacked
t’gross, gaudy, glorifying, gold-laced height
that was hewn from the populace left wracked
by lack ‘n loss ‘n need ‘n pain ‘n strife!
Yesh’wa invoked ‘top heaps of plundered wealth;
worn robes giltgarish of expensive make –
dishonour done unto his tortured self
by masquerading in a hall he’d hate!
His words drowned out by dreary, echoed songs
he never asked for sung by passive throngs!
Shadeshadow flickerflame –
might th’lot of you not worship at
an alcove candlelit ‘n plain?
C’llecting coins w’thin places which
reek of money wasted on the rich,
giving unto themselves all they claim!
A pauper, ragged-robed, tells the world to give
bread, time, shelter, water, care, ‘n love.
From that you come to chanting in a palace with
no connection to the meek but for their blood?
Image credit – Middlethorpe
william altoft 