The humble of my time
Though they gobble it up out of sight
They whisper their deeds through the horn of an amplified echo
And graze for gratitude
The last breath of a pauper will even do
Just as long as homage is paid
The humble ones who demand reverence
The ones whose social cause is a cause for social network
Where left not only tells the right what it’s doing
But teaches it to the legs as well
The humble of my time detest pie
Though they gobble it up while you’re not looking
They present themselves hungry at the table
Yet they feed themselves with the meat whilst still in the pot cooking
They speak on behalf of the masses
Charismatic, fluent and in shiny tight suits
They become “us” in times of need
And we become “they” when the mouth must cease to speak and eat
The humble of my time loathe pie
Though they consume it in their private time
Though they will neither wipe the crumbles that corrupt their mouths
Nor the crusts that decorate their thorny moustaches
They denounce the secret recipe publicly
“Pie?! What pie?”
They ask in utter disgust
They question your trust
They don’t trust that you can finally see the wool they pulled over your face
The wool you now use as a waslap*
They admonish you to “give to God”
Yet it’s their pockets that experience the miracle of overflow
They sell breakthrough for every different season
And if you are not paying much attention, they will betray your reasoning
Self-appointed modern messiahs that carry their touch-screen crosses in the pouches in their back pockets
Paddling the gospel of ghost spells enchanting the destitute and desperate
With good intentions came good actors
Spiritual fathers with no spiritual seed
Obedient spiritual sons yet your physical family don’t know your spiritual fruit
Pie! Pie! Lie! Pie! Line up! Line up!
They don’t like pie because they occupy the VIP section in the ministry of their celebritism
The humble of my time tie their “mean shoe game” laces with the 10% in the envelope bearing your name
*waslap – facecloth
You spoke once, twice I heard
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