Worship. A poem

Show me what you have and I’ll show you what you worship

I see the Mother with her seven children

I see the Husband dote upon his wife.

I see the preacher with his private helicopter

Show me what you have and I will show you what you worship

I see the Diva soaking up her fame.

I see the Comedian driving bar to bar, joke to joke.

I see the preacher with his shiny gulfstream

Show me what you have and I will show you what you worship

I see the Politician and his war chest.

I see the General and all his arsenal.

I see the preacher and his golden watch.

Show me what you have and I will show you what you worship

I see the Artist in a garage of canvases, reeking of oils

I see the Mechanic covered black in grease with rough scarred hands

I see the preacher clad in Armani before an awestruck throng of rubes

Show me what you have and I will show you what you worship

I see the Surfer, sandy tied to longboard.

I see the Addict shaking, lighter in hand.

I see the preacher in his megachurch of crystal.

Show me what you have and I will show you what you worship

I see the Librarian and a sea of books

I see the Scientist and a mountain of data

I see the preacher and his multi-media global empire

Show me what you have and I will show you what you worship

I see the writer with not much more than this poem

I see the monk with faith, a robe, a hard floor to sit on.

I see the preacher with his giant piles of other people’s cash.

Show me what you have.

Show me what you have.

Show me what you have and I will tell you