The voice on the pulpit.

The once silent bells now toll in rage,

The pulpit, no longer a gilded cage.

Echoes of truth reverberate loud,

No longer drowned by the cheering crowd.

The shepherd's crook points to the king,

Whose promises flew on broken wing.

The altar rejects the silver and gold,

For righteousness cannot be bought or sold.

"Where are the grains you swore to sow?

The fields lie barren; the rivers slow.

The flock you vowed to clothe and feed

Now kneels in dust, betrayed by greed."

The church stands firm, a beacon bright,

Casting shadows on the throne's false light.

"No longer shall we bless your name,

For justice denied is a nation's shame."

Abductions dance in the darkened street,

The wail of mothers, a mournful beat.

Hospitals crumble; the sick decay,

While leaders feast and turn away.

The breadbasket lies bare, unfilled,

Dreams of tomorrow left unfulfilled.

The coin that clinks in the offering plate

Cannot erase the nation's weight.

So rise, O church, with fearless tone,

A voice for the voiceless, the heart of stone.

The lambs deserve a better care,

Not platitudes wrapped in hollow prayer.

Let the Word be fire, let the Truth be sword,

To cut through lies of the powerful horde.

For the pews are filled with weary cries,

And salvation awaits where justice lies.

©Bunguswa™