Rod

The man who feels no spur to mobilize
the quest to know all forces at Self's core,
is he who's taken pains to memorize
the map, but never stepped beyond the door.
Society is rife with men like this,
in churches, schools and townhalls, everywhere.
Machine-like souls with eyes immune to bliss,
they pray by rote from permanent despair.
Lament them not, there is no other Hell.
They sip their private pride and spare no rod
when lavishing rebuke, and shame as well
on other self-wrought hostages of God.
They once were boys and girls whose faces beamed
in purity, and Grace was what it seemed.