So the puppet master sat us all down one day
Said he had much to say,
been responsible for many things,
had created scripts for kings.
Said he wanted us to know many truths.
Encouraged us to be truth-telling sleuths.
So he opened up his world,
showed us many little girls
with long hair wrapped in curls.
But legs were entangled and some looked as if strangled.
Said he had bound them like this, so they wouldn’t resist.
They were being trained to act like him,
only they were decorated with gems and trim.
For every gem had meaning,
“kittens and bitches” learned about gleaning.
Their jobs were to draw lost boys to wells,
but really, adult men ended up in hells—
deceived into thinking they were like the Prince of Wales.
He went on to tell us stories of old,
made up by men who were bold—
willing to lie for a piece of gold.
Showed us photos of slaves,
grown men made to behave.
From farm fields to sporting events,
hard men with harder mothers represent.
“This is the way we do it,” he said,
“Create the atmosphere, use, abuse, and commit to a bed.
Loyal dogs follow their teachers,
and listen to godless preachers.
Pledge to a few, dreams must pursue
--only the chosen, a few.
Now if they do well, rumors will dispel,
a story will tell, we ring the bell.
Freedom they are given, they make a great livin’.
But to those who are not well fed,
we put flowers on their beds.
Not worth the time and energy,
they don’t have the right synergy.
It takes many plans to rule the nations,
many infrastructures and stations.
People are more than what they appear to be,
Entertainers, soldiers, and many more, you see.
There are those who think like you do,
but don’t explore, review.
Take whatever we give them or lend them.
Make a fuss when they can’t get on the bus,
kick, scream, cry, and cuss."
The old man began to smile,
he showed us another file.
Pointed to those he had on speed dial.
“If ever there was anyone I needed,
they knew their job, they conceded.”
There are many like me, the old man laughed,
“but those old fools got the shaft.”
“Play along,” he warned.
It was the same tired song.
He wanted us to work for him,
but we knew about “them.”
The lies about our money,
the queen bee with all the honey,
the court jesters acting funny,
pretending everyday was sunny.
Talk shows, talent shows, reality shows, and videos with
hos.
He claimed it all, his design,
he said, they were fed their lines.
All used to get us not to think,
Hoping we wouldn’t ask,
“What stinks?”
The rich, old man appeared to be alright,
but we could see he had poor sight.
Believed his own lies for far too long,
wanted us to sing his pathetic song,
“Listen and obey, listen and obey…
pray, pray to our dark god today.”
After all his teaching, it was time for us to go preaching.
But what he thought we were going to go out and say,
he was mistaken, we didn’t make his day.
For we had much to say...
“New levels, new devils.
New agendas and plans,
while the ostrich has his head
in quick sand.
Pay the people, pay the people.
Taking money from the steeples.
One true God watches all!
Humpty is about to have a great, big, big fall.
All his kings’ horses and all his kings’ men
won’t be put back together again!
Circles go bust, lies reveal,
secrets spill, and leaders pop pills.
Told you to go get your Holy Book,
But your head, it just shook!
Told you to take cover,
But you rather sleep with a lover.
Warned you of pending danger,
You saw the label, “Endanger.”
Your species is dying off,
they sold out, bent over
took a cough.
Raising up devilish things,
while building up many smokescreens."
Oh, the old man thought we were fools.
He forgot we went to higher learning schools.
Trying to distract us with big words and things.
Trying to tell us which songs to sing.
Didn’t think we would break programming.
Didn’t think we knew anything but to dance and sing.
While some play ball, distracted from a future fall.
We go out and stand real tall!
Hands held high—no fear to die,
running away from nightmares
while puppets walk with blank stares.
Do you really see what I see or do you prefer
to attack the one greater than me?
For there is one above, who is as gentle as a dove.
But more powerful than the strongest quake
and he will make the deceived shake.
Best be on guard for what is ahead
And stay out of the wicked one’s bed!
Nicholl McGuire is the author of Spiritual Poems by Nicholl, a creative work that illustrates the upset, frustration, but also joyful moments being a follower of the one true God!
