Chapter 12
The PrEAChEr's Name
Da PrEAChEr, the name, ignites the flame. PEACE is the aim, escaping the blame, playing the game, forever the same.
The letters stand tall, a beacon in the haze,
Da PrEAChEr, my name, in these rhyming days.
They spell out a truth, a whisper, a plea,
For PEACE, for all souls, for you and for me.
But hate’s a dark shadow, a phantom I chase,
My message misunderstood, lost in this place.
They see only voodoo, a hocus-pocus art,
When I plant seeds of wisdom, right from my heart.
I walk through this world, a stranger, unseen,
My words like lost echoes, a forgotten dream.
The laughter, the scorn, the sideways glance,
They paint me a madman, caught in a trance.
Yet deep in my core, a fire burns bright,
A river of rhythm, a celestial light.
The spirits they gather, a ethereal choir,
Their voices a symphony, feeding my fire.
“They don’t understand,” I whisper low,
To the unseen companions, wherever I go.
“They judge me by shadows, by what they perceive,
The seeds that I scatter, they refuse to believe.”
A sigh, like the wind through ancient trees,
Carries my sorrow on the evening breeze.
This name, it's a burden, a title I bear,
A promise of peace, met with despair.
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