A Flawed Prophet

I am a successful surgeon but In reality I am a failure. For I pay for the company of life. I pay to be human, pay for the understanding that my patients receive for free. I am the geek in the corner the wall paper that eyes don’t see. My bond is with god for he shows me his creation and I must correct his mistakes. Vanity is to say such things but the sick will come to my door. They gamble that I could be a saviour for fear is anointed by hope. The good and the bad will sell their convictions. My hand can cheat the cards that god dealt, and my face belongs to this poker game, we call life. I am the fall guy too who will walk down the corridor to hopeful eyes. But remember where there is god the devil exists too and you will judge me. For I must bare my soul in the darkness of defeat that tells your relatives that I lost. I failed to grab the hand of life which held the royal flush that no player can defeat, and I will feel your doubts that perhaps I am not perfect. In truth I am a glorified mechanic. I am the surgeon that repairs your vices, I am the bloody hands that remove your pain. I can make you beautiful I can change your heart, though I need the sacrifice of the departed to help. And when age threatens your life money will save the chosen few, In the illusion of immortality. Though time will always be the clown that will laugh at you Some of you will feed on muesli and preach of the morning jog. Others will rely on alcohol and drugs to take away their pain. All will believe in immortality, but decay can always wait for you. I am the surgeon Who chose this profession. I shake the hands of the dead I receive tributes from the living. Sanity is a lonely place for me. My indiscretion is grateful for her apartment for I need her beauty to take away today and a shower to wash away mankind. She removes my pain with love so I can feel human for one more day. Sodom and Gomorra’s a small price to pay for my patients to see the sun for one more day. God never gave me good looks but he gave me a steady hand. A hand that can caress your heart for I am a maverick that puzzles god. In truth I could be a monster, I will not cry when you die. Blood is just another day, though I hate to lose as all gamblers will tell you. But who amongst you would care About a stranger who gives you life. For in truth even the devil would make me a hero, as long as I save a sinners life.