Gold Men Hierarchies

It’s all men,
Who think they know what they are doing,
Given a certain set of assumptions and conditions.
They proceed in their own best interests
Without really understanding the harm they do,
So they feel righteous
Taking from everyone a little bit or a lot
Thinking they are the guardians who know best
And all others are suckers anyway,
At least no better than children.

The church hierarchy is a mountain
Of dirt and rocks mostly,
With some trees and grass
And a meandering, obstacle strewn, path.
There are caves and mines to the interior
Where one might find gold or silver or other precious gems
But it’s tricky, dark, and dank.
“Oh, sure, go right ahead!” they say
“WE have the goods, the God!”
Mostly they don’t go in there themselves
But only stand jealous guard over it
In their robes
Charging an entrance fee at the doors.
Their liturgies and chants
Are siren calls.

Look around first
At the Light
And warmth
For God is everywhere
All the time
Inside and out too.

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