Dime store preachers and barstool prophets is all
they are. Raising their voices and pumping their
fists, spittle flying from their dragon lips. Each
slack jaw jobber jostling for their position on the
corner pulpit. "I've got something to say, something
to sell...need a dime?...need some company sir?" Feel their
stare as you pass, how dare you spend your hard
earned cash without sharing it with them. Hand out,
unabashed, unashamed, impervious to the flames of
hell.Never gave, always take, but "I know what I want
and give it to me now!" 'It's not me, not my fault, the devil made
me do it!" They rehearse their mantras from their
bastardized book of honour. They curse those who walk
on the good side of the dotted line between saint and
sinner. Fools gold and cheap wine fuel the shadow
drifters machine. Close your eyes and listen to the
guttural rumblings of greed, smell the stench of
deceit and taste the putrid flesh of a rotting
society. Now ask yourself, how can you help return
the voice of reason to its rightful owners. Back to
the angels of destiny and away from the deities of
despair.
Kendall Oliphant 2009
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