THE PARADOX OF THE PREACHER

He spoke of love, yet brought a sword,
a peaceful king with wrath outpoured.
Turn the cheek, yet cleanse the temple,
a lesson taught, but not so simple.

The meek inherit, yet he reigns,
calls for loss, yet seeks our gain.
He walks with sinners, dines with thieves,
yet warns of wrath none can appease.

Judge not, lest ye be judged, he said,
then cast a curse on fruit long dead.
Forgive them all, yet hellfire looms,
a kingdom bright with shadowed rooms.

He preached of justice, leveled ground,
yet kings and slaves still wear their crowns.
The rich must fall, the poor must rise,
but somehow heaven keeps its golden skies.

Do unto others, the ancient golden rule,
still blind faith makes the wise into fools.
Blessed are peacemakers, gentle and true,
yet woe to those who doubt his view.

He healed the sick, embraced the poor,
but spoke in codes that closed the door.
The last are first, the first are last,
while some are cast outside, to become
outcast.

A shepherd kind, yet calls for fear,
a love supreme so vast, yet nowhere near.
So tell me now, what truth remains?
A saint, a fraud, or both constrained?

A tale repeated, age by age,
a doctrine bound to gilded cage.
Not here to liberate the mind, but pacify,
to teach the weak to kneel with fear,
and not rise.

A crafted myth, a whispered lie,
to dim the fire in human eyes.
A king of heaven, crowned with chains,
who bids the world embrace its pains.

Not born to lead, but to control,
and break the will, confine their souls.
The symbol of the unrelenting crushing boot,
that grinds innate resistance at its root.

A preacher false, yet worshipped still,
a tale that bends the people's will.
Not love, not truth, nor guiding light,
but chains wrapped tight in robes of white.