On Being Right Poem by John F. McCullagh

On Being Right



I met a man the other day who proclaimed he was right
in his smug assured way.
As I listened I wondered ' How can this be? '
when all he held sacred seemed profane to me.
I conducted a survey, I asked all around;
opinions, like assh*les, were thick on the ground.
Some followed a Prophet, others swore by a book.
Some would kill you to save you if that's what it took.
In a pantheon of idols, theirs was the true God.
All the others are fakes- which I found rather odd.
I admired their certainty; their faith seemed so strong.
Yet doubt tempts me to wonder if everyone's wrong.
We all think we're right which can lead to disaster,
both here and now and then in the hereafter.

Sunday, November 23, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: religions
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Gajanan Mishra 23 November 2014

Very good writing, I like it, thanks.

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