When I read this poem, I couldn't help but think of the Governing Body and the Watchtower Society and those who have left them...
Prognosis by Theodore Roethke
Diffuse the outpourings of the spiritual coward,
The rambling lies invented for the sick.
O see the fate of him whose guard was lowered!--
A single misstep and we leave the quick.
Flesh behind steel and glass is unprotected
From enemies that whisper to the blood;
The scratch forgotten is the scratch infected;
The ruminant, reason, chews a poisoned cud.
Platitudes garnished beyond a fool's gainsaying;
The scheme without purpose; pride in a furnished room;
The mediocre busy at betraying
Themselves; their parlors musty as a funeral home.
Though the devouring mother cry, "'Escape me?
Never--'"
And the honeymoon be spoiled by a father's ghost,
Chill depths of the spirit are flushed to a fever,
The nightmare silence is broken. We are not lost.
~Merry