Life
Pharisee, Pharisee!, the boy he cried.
My young cousin sent me this poem tonight. A recent poem of mine was the inspiration. You’d have to know us personally to see the subtle brilliance in what he captured. He expounded upon a situation, with accuracy and truth, of which he knew not the details. And… anyway… enjoy :)
—
Pharisee, Pharisee! the boy he cried. pastor just stared at him like someone died,
he gave the boy a smug, little growl,
which made it evident he was on the prowl, for some innocence in the young boy’s heart,
the words the boy spoke hit the pastor like a dart,
but he refused to show his shameful scars,
so he threw the boy behind some metal bars, the boy he cried not from fear,
the boy he cried to the Lord,
“what is happening here?”, the boy felt no anger, hate, or shame,
for he knew he was not the one to blame,
it was the evil that lurked through the foggy air, the poor pastor ate it like a pear,
so the boy he prayed for strength to help others,
because he still saw the pastor as a brother,
maybe he was shunned because they feared greatness,
his poor little sister was askin’,”why they hatin’ us?”,
his mother replied in a way nobody would,
she just said,”it’s God’s way to quietly do good.”, the little boy smiled with his siblings wide,
the joy poured over like a monster tide,
so these strong soldiers just went on with God,
just livin’ toghether like four peas in a pod.
–
Pierce Cornejo
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