Spoke in Smoke
He filled the tank with promises that never sparked,
held up a bottle and said the dust meant wisdom,
wore a suit like a sermon stitched from borrowed faith,
offered heaven as a refund if the product failed,
while the crowd clapped through the sound of sirens.
They followed him into fires he named as feasts,
fed on slogans carved from recycled threats,
called their fear devotion, called doubt a disease,
believed their bruises were signs of being chosen,
as the preacher bled from the mouth and called it truth.
When the flames caught up, they said it felt warm,
said the lies were needed to make the truth bearable,
called the ash a kind of cleansing for the soul,
knelt on wreckage and thanked it for standing,
while the prophet vanished beneath their praise.