Advent to Candlemas (Vol. 2)

The Prophet

A prophet laments as the damp evening falls,
His half tortured diatribe lost in the hum
Of the shoppers who chat in the glittering mall;
And, passing him, one shouts: "You're nothing but scum".
Some smile and some trudge as they go through their list
As if shopping explains why they came to exist.
The glittering gold on the corporate tree
Shines down on the rich and the poor alike
But the plate glass fills one mother with misery
As she cannot afford to buy her son a bike:
The prophet gives her an encouraging look
As he foretells the end of the world in his book.
He turns his pale face to the synthetic stars
And shouts that this greed will be repaid in doom
And the rich will be buried behind Satan's bars
Because they would not live what was meant by The Tomb:
Then he counts up his pennies and picks up his bed
And creeps to The Refuge where he will be fed.