This man writes constantly about peace and war.
What is he saying?
Writes and writes some more, has he become a bore?
He abjures praying.
He is trying to point out we’re more than broken.
How we balk.
Does he think he’s the only one who’s played this token?
Is it all just talk?
Urging us to arise and walk, does he seek respect, reward?
Beating on a hollow gong
He might as well be a prophet with a sandwich board.
Repent, The End is Near, his song.
No hope through religion found, we must save ourselves.
He must be mistaken.
Jabbered gibberish, gloom and doom, upon us lavishes.
His voice, sanity taken?
Harangues the world, to overcome apathy, not sit idle.
Who is he to ask?
Avoiding eye contact, connection, quickly past him we sidle.
He’s not our task.
Relentless, he follows so close, so uncomfortably intimate.
As if you wear the same clothes
Run, scream, hide, yet he only gains, follows and waits.
All your secrets, he knows.
Your clothing now not only all he daily wears, or inhabits.
He’s donned your skin.
Bob and weave, deke, try to duck, disappear, it’s futile.
He’s where you are, have been.
Crazy he may be, but it is your destiny he would fulfill.
Wholehearted in his humanity
Truly he wants to change the world, fix it, himself to heal.
So there might a future be.
Epiphany, he’s realized, he and all turn upon the same wheel.
This I know, for he is me.