Upon This Rock

He would curl his lip
When he chose to speak
Flicking his tongue
Assuredly at the weak

A pulpit Svengali
He owned this rock
Like singing to the choir
So easily eyes locked

His tongue it felt moist
His eyes ever cold
God's demon of conceit
Preached to his fold

Let the innocent sleep
For prayer needs no sound
Only the hiss of this rock
Underneath sacred ground

 

Reviews

[Tomás Ó C..]

Wow... so many demonic preachers this could be told of. Have you read my poem 2The Devil Quoted Scripture" I think I have it on this site... if not on my main site http;//www.writingsinrhyme.com

[Samuel Dickens]

It sounds like we might share some views, Tom.