False Savior

They whisper little lies,

dressed up as a truth

that will set you free.

It's a simple plan,

an easy fix.

You're broken, don't you see?

You moon about, in thrall,

and my words fall on deaf ears.

They pair you with a guide

who would snatch your freedom,

put you in a box,

neatly labeled.

You're kept apart from those

who would expose

this grand deception,

and so you give away your power,

your mind,

your future,

that they should mold you in their image,

like clay.

A drowning man

cannot see the ocean,

but from the shore

I watch you buffeted on the waves of untruth,

your would-be savior

an unwitting angel of death.

And though I dare not cover my eyes

or look away,

I cannot help a man who will not swim.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl.