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They took the rebel,
with dirt on his feet
and fire in his voice,
and dressed him in silk,
floating
like some sainted mannequin
in Saint-Tropez.

He flipped tables —
now they kneel at golden ones.
He fed the poor —
now they feed on gold-plated prayers.
He walked with ****** and thieves —
now they polish marble for the pious.

He healed on the Sabbath
just to make a point.
Told the rich,
“Give it all away.”
He spat truth like lightning
and stood firm in storms.

But they couldn’t control that man.
So they made him God.
Not to lift him —
but to bury him in worship.
Because if he’s God,
you don’t have to follow —
just bow.

They crowned him
to silence him.
Sanitized the sweat,
bleached the blood,
branded the rebel
as royalty.

But I remember the man —
not the myth.
I see the dust,
the rage,
the truth that burned in his chest.

And I say:
bring back the fire.
Let him walk barefoot
into temples again.
This poem questions how society and religion have polished away the raw humanity and rebellion of figures like Jesus. Once a voice for the oppressed, he’s now a glossy icon—safe, distant, and silent. A protest in verse. A reminder to seek truth, not comfort.
Theheartofman Oct 2024
As I explore my anxiety.
Why am I so shy, with beauties such as thee?
My heart says, go talk to thee.
My mind says she may reject thee.
My soul says that she will set you free.
My mind says, your chocolate haired beauty, will despise thee.
My heart says you can play and be free. Frolic like in a meadow, like children are we.
My mind says you are too beautiful for me.
My soul says, as we connect, it will reveal a great mystery.
Set my mind free my chocolate haired beauty.
Let's dance and sing, as children, we would be.
Playful and inquisitive are we.
Doubt, shame and are no longer allowed to remain with inside of you, and within side of me.
Let's set our hearts, minds and souls free.
Discover, be free, to see each others,
divine, sacred and natural beauty!

— The End —