We tend to shoot the bearers of bad news;
poor messengers who carry in their heads
someone elses words: no doubt a ruse
to let us murder people in their beds.
Doomsayers, as a rule, are first to go:
put against a wall and quickly shot.
Postmen, politicians the so-and-so
who works in sales are soon forgot.
But its different when the profits in the Word,
the prophets made: he takes on sacred airs.
Whether indivisible, or a holy third,
to argue with the Lord is all one dares
to do in thought: to picture it in ink,
draws devils from the pit up to the brink.
If you've any comment on this poem, Nigel Holt would be pleased to hear from you.