Sometimes, the devil’s vessel
is the one holding the mic.

Wolves in sheep’s clothing,
well-dressed, well-versed,
quoting scriptures they don’t live
while demons do the ad-lib.

Puppet masters
with their hands up backs,
while the devil’s hand
is up their back,

controlling the minds of lambs and sheep,
controlling the wallets,
the votes,
the fear.

Exploiting the poor,
the orphan,
the widow,
and the rich

A cannibal,
feasting on his own supply,
drunk off power,
starving the flock.

You were called to steward the sheep,
to lead the sheep,
to love the sheep.

But instead,
you beat the sheep,
burden the sheep,
choke the sheep
with rules you don’t follow.

Religion is your rod.
Regulations, your staff.
And you are comforted
by the echo of yes-men.

The Lord is not your shepherd
ego is.
You shall not want for applause.

You prepare a table
in the presence of your enemies,
but poison the cup
and call it communion.

The real Shepherd leaves the 99
to go get the 1
but you?

You blacklist the one,
ostracize the one,
condemn the prodigal
before they even reach the gate.

The soul-crushing weight
of shame,
judgment,
and religion
would kill anyone.

Amerikkka taught you
that the terrorist wears a hijab or kufi
but sometimes,
the terrorist wears a cassock,
a robe,
a suit and tie.

Sometimes, the devil’s vessel
stands behind a pulpit.
Sometimes, he knows your name.

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“Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravenous wolves.”
‭‭Matthew‬ ‭7‬:‭15‬ ‭NKJV‬‬