Gibbering Jabbering

While preachers are jabbering for the tithe,

Flickers of hope and citizens drown at the hithe.

Find me a gibbering denizen with no blithe,

Cynic tongues give me no painful writhe.

In fleeting hopes, bleak despair thrives.

A warmonger weaves the phantom’s tale,

Lies entwined in whispers contrived,

A haunting echo of war perturbs the frail.

No chatter of cheer nor trivial jest,

I seek no mirth in shallow streams,

Only the truth, that feeble, worn vest,

That cuts through the haze of broken dreams.

Some gather at the river’s bend,

Their voices drown in the rushing tide,

Casting nets for minds that cannot mend,

While faith and doubt in silence at odds abide.

So give me, not the fickle tides,

Nor echoes of a laugh that stings,

But the quiet strength that resides,

In the heart’s still chambers, the weight it brings.

While breath of doubt sweeps the night,

Snuffing out flickers, dimming the light,

From the ashes, a spark still glows,

A tender pulse in the heart that knows.

No idle chatter; let silence reign,

No trembling hands to twist the pain,

Preachers of fear in their hollow stride,

Drown in the currents where hopes collide.

Let the rivers run clear of their pious lies,

And wash away all the blindfolded cries,

For in the depths where resilience sings,

Lies the truth that tomorrow brings.