The idle
idols watch silently from their plaster cast
The images
watch unmoved from their frames
Showing no
traces of their legendary, unmatched power
Leaving
unchecked the mayhem propagated in their name
Pigments on
parchment, the scriptures, texts and scrolls
Alleged
words of the allegedly divine
Sit still
but safe after playing a role
In providing
a treasure for manipulative minds
The
guardian, the supposedly mightiest of all,
Looks too helpless
and weak to stop the blaze
Flocks of the
faithful shield him against the squall
Under the
dubious cover of mysterious ways
In that
hallowed cage of gold, amidst the palaver of praise
A quiet whisper of sense echoes, reverberates
It draws a heavy price, this ultimate vice
As it is construed as a plot for the
credence’s demise
Least
bothered about what the omnipresence heard or saw
Driven by
the greed of expanding their controlled creed
In they draw
those who are clutching at straws,
Spread the
weed as they prey on those in need
The
scriptures survive on the perceived sanctity of their words
Through
warmth or force, in voice or in black and white
Induce
unnatural instinct in the voluminous herds
To trample
outsiders in a show of holy unholy might
The static
statues sit on their pedestals,
Serene
expressions set in cement or stone,
Assured of
their chances of survival
In
the tumultuous tussle for the throne