Parable of the Righteous

In the village 
They say that all truth
Is their truth,
So they’re rounding
Up all the wrong ones
And casting them out
There is the baker;
Who’s bread they say
Is no longer palatable.
The builder, who’s
Bricks are the wrong color
And the doctor who
Prescribes medication
They find not to their refined taste
Soon it is only the dreamers
Who are left, they dream
Their dreams, while the robbers come 
and steal their bread,
the vandals come and burn their houses.
And all the while in the real world,
the men of money
build new counting houses. 


Author: Bernard Pearson