You seer

I call out to you, who has been given the power to see. For you have in you a gift so strange and absurd. Tell me, how do you see the flaws in every right? How can you tell when somebody is wrong and how they can never be right? How do you know he is already a drafted candidate to the gates of Hades? How tell me, do you know when the master sends you to instil his wisdom in the hard hearts of men dead in the spirit and decayed in the soul? Tell me, you ripe soul who knows all, should I keep walking or there lies a trap ahead I do not know? Tell me, you seer, how do you see the speck in your brother’s eye and not the log in yours? Why do you see the dirt in your sister’s finger nails when she digs into the family dinner and not the murk on your palms? You with the gift of seeing, tell me, how long till you fall? How far till the gates you condemn other to beckons you? Are you yet to see the end of the road? Tell me, seer, what should I do to get some of the grace you are entitled to? How much a sinner am I that I cannot receive mine in the same measure?

Tell me, you worthy to sit at the pedestals of judgement, who is going to drag you off? Tell me, seer, what do you mean when you speak of love? Is it the power to choose who goes and who does not? Is love the predisposition to condemn those who do not live and believe like us? What forgiveness do you know when all you call from heaven is fire and brimstone? Tell me, you seer, have you seen your end yet? And why do you know your neighbour’s? Who told you that the master looks at those with longer prayers and louder confessions? Who told you that the master listens to those who fast themselves to death and walk about gloating about their good relationship with Him? Where do you think you are headed when you worship with a heart laden with hatred and ill-conceived notions? Tell me, you seer, how does one follow the broken road? You walk with your head held high and a cross heavy on your back. You pray, crave that he sees you walking and heavy laden, hoping for rest, but not before all of us sinners see you pass by panting and sweating. Am I wrong to walk there humble and broken? Am I wrong when I have not a big cross of my own and nothing to show the people? Am I wrong when I walk not or act like you? Tell me, seer, you who has been built to perfection, does he who wants meat walk into a salon to retrieve it? Does a drifter walk into a milk bar for his evening drink? We are wrong, we are weak, and that is why we deserve his grace provided we walk the right direction and knock the right doors. Continue lying to yourself, that you shall be picked when the day of his coming beckons. Why should He come for the straight while the broken need him more? Lie to yourself more, but you are nothing without love. We walk by faith, for how can a blind man choose to walk by sight when he doesn’t even know where he is headed?

What will happen to you, seer, when you realize your throne was made from dust and ashes of a cold fire?