Every choice has a price. Following the old prophet is not free. It looks safe at first. It feels comforting. It even feels holy or patriotic or respectful. But slowly, silently, the bill comes due. And when it does, it is heavy. Families pay it. Nations pay it. Whole generations pay it. Following the old prophet is like drinking poison because the cup is golden. It may look fine in your hand, but in your belly, it burns.
When the old prophet is a parent, the cost is heavy on children. He controls instead of guides. He demands without giving. He raises his children with fear, and they grow into adults who either run far away or copy his ways. The family becomes a factory of bitterness. Children whisper, “When I grow up, I will never be like him.” Yet years later, they wake up with the same anger, the same pride, the same cold heart. And the irony? The old prophet still demands respect from the same children he crushed. He says, “Honor your father.” The children think, “Maybe if you had acted like one.”
When the old prophet is a pastor, the cost is the death of truth. Sermons become comedy shows. Worship becomes a business. Holiness becomes marketing. People leave church services with empty pockets and empty hearts, but with full shopping bags of “holy water,” “anointed oil,” and “miracle cloths” — all at a very affordable price. Of course, the miracles never show up, but the receipts always do. The tragedy is not just money lost. The tragedy is faith lost. People walk away from God, not because God failed them, but because the old prophet sold them lies in His name.
When the old prophet is a politician, the whole nation becomes his private farm. He plants lies, waters them with propaganda, and harvests the people’s sweat. Hospitals rot. Roads crack. Schools collapse. Yet somehow, his children are studying abroad, his wife is shopping in Via Monte Napoleone, and his dogs are eating better than half the citizens. But the people clap. They wave flags. They sing songs of praise to a man who cannot fix potholes but somehow promises to fix the future. It is almost funny, if it were not so tragic.
When the old prophet is a businessman or employer, the cost is dignity. Workers become slaves. They labor long hours for small pay while the prophet builds mansions and posts selfies with motivational quotes: “Hard work pays.”
The workers laugh bitterly, thinking, “Yes, but only for you.” The old prophet holds staff meetings and tells employees, “We are a family here.” But somehow in this “family,” only one person eats steak, while the rest chew bones.
The old prophet is a thief of tomorrow. He steals from children who never chose to follow him. He steals from generations not yet born. When education is destroyed, when money is stolen, when lies are passed down as truth — the next generation grows up blind.
The child who should be in school is instead loitering aimlessly because the school was never built. The teenager who should dream of inventions only dreams of escape. The young man or woman who should change the world is too busy fighting for survival. And yet, people still defend the old prophet, saying, “At least he built a small clinic.” But the clinic has no medicine, no nurses, and no beds. It is a building of lies — a monument to how cheap hope has become.
The cost of following the old prophet is not only what is lost, but what never even begins. How many doctors were never trained because money was stolen? How many leaders were never born because families broke under his control? How many businesses were never started because corruption drained resources?
The old prophet is not just a destroyer of the present. He is a thief of possibilities. He robs not only bread from the table but also the dreams from the heart.
Perhaps the saddest — and funniest — part is the crowd itself. They see the suffering. They feel the pain. Yet they still clap. They defend the man who is robbing them. They insult anyone who speaks against him.
It is like watching a man burn your house and still shouting, “At least he gave me firewood yesterday!” The crowd becomes the greatest joke of all. They become the prophet’s best weapon; goons. He does not need guards when the crowd protects him. He does not need lies when the crowd repeats them for free.
The cost of following the old prophet is the death of truth. And when truth dies, everything else dies with it. Families break. Nations collapse. Faith disappears. Future is stolen. Hope turns into cheap comedy. And in the end, the people look back and ask, “How did we get here?” The answer is simple: you followed the old prophet, and you paid the price.
When the old prophet is a parent, the cost is heavy on children. He controls instead of guides. He demands without giving. He raises his children with fear, and they grow into adults who either run far away or copy his ways. The family becomes a factory of bitterness. Children whisper, “When I grow up, I will never be like him.” Yet years later, they wake up with the same anger, the same pride, the same cold heart. And the irony? The old prophet still demands respect from the same children he crushed. He says, “Honor your father.” The children think, “Maybe if you had acted like one.”
When the old prophet is a pastor, the cost is the death of truth. Sermons become comedy shows. Worship becomes a business. Holiness becomes marketing. People leave church services with empty pockets and empty hearts, but with full shopping bags of “holy water,” “anointed oil,” and “miracle cloths” — all at a very affordable price. Of course, the miracles never show up, but the receipts always do. The tragedy is not just money lost. The tragedy is faith lost. People walk away from God, not because God failed them, but because the old prophet sold them lies in His name.
When the old prophet is a politician, the whole nation becomes his private farm. He plants lies, waters them with propaganda, and harvests the people’s sweat. Hospitals rot. Roads crack. Schools collapse. Yet somehow, his children are studying abroad, his wife is shopping in Via Monte Napoleone, and his dogs are eating better than half the citizens. But the people clap. They wave flags. They sing songs of praise to a man who cannot fix potholes but somehow promises to fix the future. It is almost funny, if it were not so tragic.
When the old prophet is a businessman or employer, the cost is dignity. Workers become slaves. They labor long hours for small pay while the prophet builds mansions and posts selfies with motivational quotes: “Hard work pays.”
The workers laugh bitterly, thinking, “Yes, but only for you.” The old prophet holds staff meetings and tells employees, “We are a family here.” But somehow in this “family,” only one person eats steak, while the rest chew bones.
The old prophet is a thief of tomorrow. He steals from children who never chose to follow him. He steals from generations not yet born. When education is destroyed, when money is stolen, when lies are passed down as truth — the next generation grows up blind.
The child who should be in school is instead loitering aimlessly because the school was never built. The teenager who should dream of inventions only dreams of escape. The young man or woman who should change the world is too busy fighting for survival. And yet, people still defend the old prophet, saying, “At least he built a small clinic.” But the clinic has no medicine, no nurses, and no beds. It is a building of lies — a monument to how cheap hope has become.
The cost of following the old prophet is not only what is lost, but what never even begins. How many doctors were never trained because money was stolen? How many leaders were never born because families broke under his control? How many businesses were never started because corruption drained resources?
The old prophet is not just a destroyer of the present. He is a thief of possibilities. He robs not only bread from the table but also the dreams from the heart.
Perhaps the saddest — and funniest — part is the crowd itself. They see the suffering. They feel the pain. Yet they still clap. They defend the man who is robbing them. They insult anyone who speaks against him.
It is like watching a man burn your house and still shouting, “At least he gave me firewood yesterday!” The crowd becomes the greatest joke of all. They become the prophet’s best weapon; goons. He does not need guards when the crowd protects him. He does not need lies when the crowd repeats them for free.
The cost of following the old prophet is the death of truth. And when truth dies, everything else dies with it. Families break. Nations collapse. Faith disappears. Future is stolen. Hope turns into cheap comedy. And in the end, the people look back and ask, “How did we get here?” The answer is simple: you followed the old prophet, and you paid the price.