False Idol

You talk

loudly

proclaiming

demanding

with nary a thought of truth

content to rip asunder

a continent.

Speak volumes

mayhap all will listen

falling to your thunderous roar

waddle forward

patting hair in place

put the best face forward.

You are nothing.

A pig.

A degenerate.

A bitter taste upon my tongue

one I wish I could deny.

Your fatted calf

bled

an offering

to gods unknown

protection

for you know

death is riding

high upon the clouds

and you will yield

you will bow

for ignorance

arrogance

shall be your downfall.

©Nov. 1/19

Picture found in Pinterest