Obelisk.
Idolater. Novice.
You reek of weak.
You pose in prose script;
lips that move, but don't speak.
Yet those that know this
focus solely on large shoes... excusing small feet.
these trappings're wrappings of holistic solace...
the bacterial film enveloping the meat.
You reside in a coccoon of fabrication.
Lies are the crevices creasing your dream-laden motif.
Cryptic truths; blunt tales... ego's postulation.
Sails flail on ships never chartered.
Revered as you regale your congregation
endearing your cloak with chinks partnered.
Followers forgive. It's contagious.
You entertain til the malaise hits.
Then the God is but a man,
an obelisk to the brainless.
__________________
Ahem.
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