By Chidi Anthony Opara
The cream,
The dregs
Of our society,
Congregants
In the arena of miracles.
They congregate
To listen
To the sweet tales
Of smooth talking "men of God",
Merchants of miracles.
To their tales of miracles.
Music ooze
From the gadgets invented
By those labeled "sons of Satan".
The congregants,
Some transported to heaven
Though still rooted on earth
Move their lips
To the rhythms and rhymes
Of the music they call heavenly,
Others wriggle to the beats.
The rest roll on the floor
Mimicking monsters,
Miracles!
"Its time for offering!"
The miracle merchant announce.
From the tiny pockets of the dregs,
From the large pockets of the cream,
Wads of currency
Drop into the offering bowels,
The miracle merchant smiles.
(Poem presented as social service, all rights reserved)
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Chidi Anthony Opara is a Poet, Professional Fellow of Institute Of Information Management Africa, MIT Chief Data Officer Ambassador, Registered Freight Forwarder and Editorial Adviser at News Updates.
More about him here: https://independent.academia.edu/ChidiAnthonyOpara
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