The Preacher

Upon a stone wall
the young man stood,
picket sign in hand,
cross around his neck,
shouting at passers-by,
brandishing a Bible never opened.

His face burned bright
red with the blood
pounding at his temples.

Spittle flew with the
words he shouted.
Raining down upon the people,
an unholy baptism
from an unholy man.

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