Prologue: The following is in praise of free speech. It combines my “Odes of Strangers” into a likeness of human nature, set against the current political landscape. My Odes of Strangers were inspired by Horace’s “Odes and Epodes,” where I felt that the works were comparisons of everyday people with heroes. So I did the same, taking unlikely people I’ve met and telling their lives like they were historical or mythological figures. All culminating into the Poem’s recurring meditation, on whether humans can actually communicate and understand one another. Which is what the work is considering. Can people understand one another? Or are we trapped in our own opinions? The work is dedicated to all who practice Free Speech, and the expression of that speech. Most of the individuals I tell the stories of have controversial expressions of speech, and have used their free speech in my life. And I wish to simply look at them as individuals, and think about the ramifications of censorship, which would be war. Will a Cyrus like individual need to raise up right now, and fight for Freedom of Speech? And will we have to fight to have our unique expressions protected? Or, can we come together and recognize that each of us have contributed to the larger conversation, and what needs to happen is more listening, rather than censorship? Thank you and Enjoy. Proem Circles Mr. Emerson, may I just attain What you said about circles. It makes me first get offended. As is true with all wisdom and All truth, we resist it at first. We do not like things to be So simple, nor do we appreciate Patterns we ourselves have not attained. Yet, looking at the mountains The trees, my palm, my fingers My gloves, the rocks, My calves, the cow's horns The lizard's ovular body The worms, the flies which are Shaped like eggs, The grasshoppers which are shaped Like fingers, the birds Which are shaped almost ovular The frogs, which when scrunched Are like a little oval The bushes which are ovular too... And cats and dogs and horses when they lie down. I do say I see the pattern as well. And I do believe I have a theory on why. Pi---being infinite, as is the infinite measurement of the curve--- Must inherently be the natural order of geometry. So everything, running off, and smoothing over by rain And evolving over time, Naturally must produce a circle. As, Pi is the natural shape, the natural Number of nature, by which all other things are dictated. Surely, it has its subtle imperfections Making each specimen different, But given the natural shape of all things Are likened to a circle--- And what is straight Often we can assume was man made, How men create things in squares And nature its circles--- I do say it's an offensive little thought. That I hadn't attained it first--- Maybe I equal you in genius For giving an explanation as to why--- Is it the infinite reality of Pi Which causes this? That number naturally representing The geometry of a curve Therefore, randomness must Inherently, be shaped into curves. For, the patterns in nature show That all things, built by God, Are as a curve. Men build in squares And God builds with circles. Because men must shape our environment To order, and God must shape His environment To the natural world toward that infinite Shape, that infinite number Pi. And Mr. Emerson I do not plagiarize you Rather, as you said about great poets Writing in an age where there are few, We take all things and make them our own. But, my solemn task is finding in the past Things which ought to be remembered by all For a better future. Another peculiar thought. It seems that man is the only creation Of God's which is like a rectangle. For, the Golden ratio By which men create and shape their world, Is dictated by the rectangular shape of our body. No other creature is dictated by its rectangular Form. None which I know. For, they are either cones, spheroids Or outright shaped like circles. The Human body, when standing upright Exhibits the Golden Ratio;--- That being Five to two. So do trees, so do bushes, But only human bodies seem to be nature's rectangle Which may be why we prefer them in our creations. But this strange ratio has been told to me By a much beloved professor When describing the Acropolis Which is fitted to our human shape;--- Which does appear in nature;--- Perhaps it is nature's rectangle Which we men are formed closer to---- Yes, it is most defined in our human form. For, perhaps these two measurements The measurement of Pi And the measurement of Phi, Perhaps these numbers are scientific Facts, oblong and shaping the world Through their infinite order. Perhaps Pi is nature's curve And Phi is nature's rectangle Both working together In their infinite measurements As if planed and scaled by God Like the Bible said, "Wisdom was with God when he Planed the Scale of the Earth". For, by observing this order, I am confident that God exists. For, these measurements create Upon the earth, and define all Aesthetic Beauty. That, and of course, Fibonacci's sequence; Which repeats itself through all natural shapes. For some reason, these numbers lay down the law Of how our natural world gets shaped by the Eons of textures and winds, and rains. And, certainly, to have such geometric certainty As this---for randomness cannot truly occur in nature According to these principles--- It must be that an architect, by design Created our world. And as certain as these mathematical principles are Which are observed in everything from trees To mountains, to rock formations And even the Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls, So are the moral principles laid down by Christ As certain. Which, Mr. Emerson, Is my scientific foundation for believing in Him. God's Word Word and Tao seem to be called opposites Yet, each speaks to the same discovered truth. Beyond the legalistic letters we Try to use, lies the sense of expressed truth. Not through matter of interpretation But through matter of the senses given We understand one another through truth. Even more, that lay hid beneath all things Is an unseen force which does define them. That we, attempting to stray from that path Do create for ourselves unhappiness; For underneath everything is the truth Which cannot be expressed by the letter But can be fully expressed through the sense. For it is this sense which defines all things And straying from this sense is what creates Bitterness, malaise and unhappiness. And this same thing is the proof of God's Will. Imagine We Were Characters in a Book Imagine our Earth were a book. And imagine God were the author of that book. God wrote the book. And, isn't a book something different Than our three dimensional world? It exists purely in thought. It cannot be accessed Except by comprehending what the words on the paper mean. It's the difference between our four dimensional space/time And pure imagination. Now, imagine everything we could experience Were like that book to God. And God were like we reading it. How silly would it be for the characters In that paper to use the events of that book To comprehend the man who wrote it. Such is with Genesis, That if one authored a book And edited it It would look different Describing the edits one did Than it would if one read the events In their chronological order within the book. For we and our history are like the book And the Bible contains a literal history of How it was written; It catalogs all of its edits And presents them to us chronologically In the point of view of God's Eternal Present. I Alexander, your love for life exudes And your love for meaning in the little things. Like a child, you look upon the world And see greatness, you see unexplored Alleys in every nook and cranny. The strangeness of the world is still fresh In your youthful mind, So your sense of meaning is founded Upon a love for life and its victuals. Grow older, though, Alexander, For one day you will, And looking upon the turtles Chirping their love songs In the spring You will at once find all things artificial. The aspirations of love The charters of worlds gone and far Of new lands, and sailing over the world's edge It will be a far off thing, When standing before the turtles chirping Their mating hymns. To which, life will be somber and melancholy, Yet, it will be sweeter, for the Turtles singing their hymns Will bring you the knowledge, Sweet it is, that within their happy little tales Lies the force of life, and the gay little charm Of something deep within every living thing. And when you find that, You will have found all wisdom And all charity. You will have stumbled upon the outer breath of God. II Jacque, you cry for a storm Against the church. You ire, and are indignant. Aught had such indignation at a time. You wish sin to be removed from this world And believe with your heart that all sin finds its root In the institutions of man. You see it, for they have always rejected you. You rage against a machine That neither you nor aught fully understand. Yet, the machine, dirty it is--- It brings upon its apparatus The sustenance of the poor. It is a place to tell dark secrets. Those secrets told, they will Vanish with the wind. Yes, you and aught rage against It, for it never accepted us. But, as black and dark the machine is It makes men civil And protects them from themselves. For in all things is sin, And to take away sin from a man It takes mercy, and a covering of skins. For our shame is bare before all mankind, And these institutions are the places Where the spinstresses weave our cloth And wrap us so we are no longer naked. You wish to strip the cloth From men When you wish to dissolve those institutions. For aught do understand it, But certainly, those institutions are good Because men need to cover their naked shame. III Cleopatra, your domain is yours Who gives words of strong guidance. Your ire is just, your indignation furious But your favor like a copper piece, Choice among the coinage. Silent and swift, your judgment comes While strong are you to battle. You lead this one, and he goes there. You lead that one, and she goes here. They all hearken to you. Egypt is guided by your strong bow But strange are the Satraps who preside Over the prosperity of our world. For much strong gain, The flows of the Nile overflow your head Yet you strive, even though the rewards are dim. For the fruits of your kingdom are small, Small among the kingdoms, Yet you man your post with dignity of office As a Prince among princes. The war comes, and allies flock to your aid For your reign is good, and just Though there are kings above you And kings above them. The peoples are wary Yet you keep your subjects under the yoke Of hard effort, and strength For you join yourself with them And thresh the corn, Beating out the fitches From the fold. IV Atalanta, you stand among your thorns. Everything you touch withers and dies. Your anger and shame behooves you As the food you feed the nations Wilts and does not satisfy. It is ashes in the mouth. You make haste to do good Yet only grief and shame come from your deeds. Your good is only ashes seeping from clenched fists. How the nations love you Atalanta. They cheer your fame But they curse the name of man Who challenges you. You, like Death, bring the shadow And the gray of the thunderstorm. Your benefactor is rude in his abuses And your lover is unkind. Slowly, your creeping vine tangles itself around The world, as you stand among your Thorns, and pluck the Corolla of the Rose To shape it into your deign. Fortunes you cannot make. And it flees from you; All things die and wilt in your hands. For the rose does not prosper For you do not proceed with Diligence. Your garden is fertile But your slack hand makes the bulbs stoop. V Sela, I see your strength And bitter rage. You course through the seas O' Bitter One, Ruler of a Thousand. When Cyrus came to Babylon and Ecbatana The peoples fled from your tyranny, For your wrath was kindled And your ire, your wrath Your broken pride, it caused the peoples To flee from their cities And they allowed Cyrus' forces within the walls unhindered. The Medes hate you, O Sela, As your hideousness is made the Form. The peoples lament While you set sail on the ocean, Mighty Princess of the North. You grow to hate So you draw forth your oars And pillage the coasts Causing all things beautiful to age. O! Sela, the world has become yours through Scythian war. VI Bitter David, I see you unravel The mysteries of a song. Your heart in melancholy turn, studied What would become vanity. Your daunting effort goes noticed By those who love music too, Of ages gone by. Stand at the age where deep Calls out to deep;--- But the Cypress in its Mourning replies, "Death has taken over the valleys. "Meaning doth sing her lute "In the Elburz "And armies travel through the Gate. "For the sun makes his revolution "Over the mountains "And on one side is day "And the other it is night." Yet none do draw the wisdom For men are marked out for their sins In youth. For a man's sin is discovered And it is now altered new, So that David, your effort was in vain. And with it the Cypress Mourns, for even the work of man Is besmirched by what's misunderstood. VII Hera, you were strong in Courtly abodes, where the messengers Could keep your stead And give you the sustenance you required. For it was the infidelity of Zeus Who led you to your humble position. This the peoples knew And gracious was their kindness toward you In your low estate. Completely innocent you were While Zeus made off and courted Danae. They were but men. You required rest; So with Artemis and Apollo. Yet, you instead wished to smite And like Prometheus steal the heavenly fire. You thundered, and your rage flung For the thunderbolts, but Artemis and Apollo Were sick of loves, and cried day and night For peace. Yet in your wrath There was no peace, But made war as Egypt's vine. Then, you established your house And cast your thunder at Cyrus Not Zeus; no, you threw down lightning at Cyrus Just as Cyrus had feared. Who would free God's people? Yet you, seeing yourself as a god Smote the one who shew the most kindness on you. For Artemis and Apollo's sake Cyrus rose early to counsel thou, Queen. Yet your fury hath spilled onto him Who was your greatest ally. Furious art you that one had told the truth? That war among the Titans would ruin The happiness of your children? This will be your ruin; And alas, God has told me it already is. VIII He came down, that Aeneas With his cloud, Shrouded in the mystery Of faith. "What liberty do I have?" He wondered, wishing to appease God Through the Moegic of the Law. The mystery is, that a wise man Can tell his riddles Without repudiation. That a man who has it in his mind To create worlds May create them. That a man, struggling to overcome Sin, does not have to abstain from anything Except what is sinful. If there be a train of bitterness in the heart That is sin. If Aeneas, you strive with Achilles And Odysseus and Virgil Then strive not with them For they make you doubt. However, stories contain in them wisdom. Hercules the right of passage for every man, And Bulfinch, a Christian Spun many a myth with joy For it was his work. For a man like me has very little use in this world Except to look at it And turn over its riddles. It does not have to be divine... Yet prophetic nonetheless God speaks, and it is my joy to write. Yet, you ask me a question... I suppose the answer Is that beauty is an utterance But since there is so little beauty Any trace becomes an idol. Yet I see no thing for me to do Beside utter beautiful utterances; Such it is that I do not sin. No more than Spenser or Wordsworth Or Coleridge. But, since there is only ignorance right now Any truth uttered will not be trusted. In fact, an utterance of truth Could set the world ablaze For men are spun their dreams by Morpheus And not by the poets anymore. IX The shadow within you Oh River of the Jordan Flows like the Styx into the recesses Of cold, imagination. Passing through desert lands The ashes of millions And the starving bodies of billions Flow through your wise deltas. Embrace the shadow? The cold, monstrous thing Within us? Who like Death and She'ol Twists and turns through hideous Forms, dark and seductive? Within the heart lies this The very thing Christ will exorcise. For twisting in passions and desire Murder and blasphemies Is this darkening of the soul. The Shadow, The Doppelganger. Latent, all feel its pressure Those who are wise; Those who are fools do not know it Yet it exhumes with all of their tongue. It is man's perfect enemy The shade which the white sepulcher contains. Find it, grab hold of it, Release it with kindness. Push it not back down into the body, But let the wicked beast Be like mist which steams Out from the soul By the sweat of faith And the renewing of the strength in Christ. X The heart-felt joy of play One finds in youth, ever striving For the pure emotion. And Nero, your heart is light, In you is joy, the turning of your marble Toys and the marching of them in their rows. Old, though, we find you As you put on your wolf's attire And with drawn leash are led through The meadowgrounds. Innocent, though strange, Your boyhood's emotions flood into you Pure, like the syringe. You bark, you trot, you kick your feet In the mud. You wag your tail and I find no sin in it. Then, the disapproval settles in. The peoples look on you And do not understand the spectacle, The unstructured exorcism of imagination. What is beautiful, what is serenity What is joy, is now poisoned forever. You push it down into your soul For play was all you knew. Play was everything you had. The joy, the frivolity, The utter freedom. Constrained to your dog costume--- For you are now old, And have chosen just this one form of play As is consistent with sagacity--- But noone shares your joy. It is I who sees you are not sinning But are filled with hearty laughter And you feel pure child's joy. I understand you... But the stranger shares not your joy. So, what was first innocent Becomes howling sin. XI God of Our Youth What the devil wants are happy monkeys Silent, with no knowledge of future's past. Dancing with the strobes lit, and faces pale. Exerted with all fun and copulate With the familiar sting of sexual touch. Children to be raised by their bonobos To grow up without knowing what love is. Silent, with no knowledge, no speech, no thought Language simplified to terse chords of A ten thousand word vocabulary. No one works, no one has their property Starved; feeding on the remaining surplus Of past generation's stores of green corn. Breaking down the windows of good people To steal from them their hard earned silver coins. At the end, hell's the deserted cities Its deserts the overgrown farmer's fields Its dried up river beds the State's drained stores. This is Socialism, God of our Youth. XII To the Hymn of Auld Lang Syne Not an Original Piece, but One I Can Remember Singing But cannot find anywhere. Keep Your Eye on the Grand Ol' Flag Should all acquaintance be forgot And e'ry a heart do sag Should all acquaintance be forgot Keep your eye on the grand ol' flag. Should old acquaintance be forgot And all guns hammer their tacks Should old acquaintance be forgot Keep your eye on the grand ol' flag. Should auld acquaintance be forgot And the nation come under attack Should auld acquaintance be forgot Keep your eye on the grand ol' flag. Should our acquaintance be forgot And men forget this song Should our acquaintance be forgot The days seem ever so long But if all acquaintance be forgot And e'ry a heart do sag If all acquaintance be forgot Keep your eye on the grand ol' flag. XIII Sir Lucan and the Sphynx Canto I Upon the pass there came Sir Lucan And His squire Beowulf the Less. Beowulf the Less had a page Gregory. Gregory, the page, armored Beowulf From head to toe. He latched on helmet, Shield, shoe, girded Beowulf with His sword Gwyndylyn. Beowulf had aegis Strapped to his chest. However, Beowulf's helmet was weakened By a blow taken in mortal combat. Beowulf had slewn a man down in dishonorable show Of arms, where he and a knight Valiant Took to blows in the ring of combat. This knight threw down his gauntlet So Beowulf picked it up. Sir Lucan was Beowulf's Knight, and this knight beckoned Beowulf to stay home, And not to pick up the gauntlet. Yet, Beowulf picked up the gauntlet; And thus, battle was struck. The two warriors showed, down in the arena While Lucan watched, with scowl on his mug. Arthur sanctioned the tournament As Page Gregory was with damsel Thus, he did not throw in his lot to stop the tournament. It took to blows, the black knight, Called Sir Rancor, first took his sword And smote it down upon Beowulf's head. Beowulf took the blow; Sowith, his helmet cracked; Thus, Beowulf became wroth Who took his shield and smote Sir Rancor upon the breast, and Smote down his sword upon Sir Rancor's head. Blood poured out of Sir Rancor's joints As Sir Rancor took to a blow At Beowulf's shield Bowing the shield with his chain mace. Beowulf, without helmet nor shield Acquiesced for the battle, And took his sword and ran it through Sir Rancor's Joint, by the armpit. Sir Rancor fell wounded, But took a dagger from his leg And shafted the weapon Into Beowulf's ankle Breaking his shoe's belt. Beowulf was uninjured; however, Taking his sword, he smote it down upon Sir Rancor's head. The knight fell, to wit, Beowulf drove his sword Into the heart of Sir Rancor Who lie on the ground, wounded. Arthur saw that the knight was dead So called the tournament closed Where Beowulf lost all his armor And Sir Rancor was lain smitten on the field of battle. Beowulf expected to be knighted for the feat However, Arthur saw no honor in this feud. Thus, Beowulf was yet still a squire. Beowulf saw the disdain on Lucan's face And saw he had disgraced his knight valiant. Lucan who would be later slain in battle To the Caerbanog, was disgruntled with Beowulf. For some say, this led Lucan to the Caerbanog's forest For he would no longer listen to sweet Beowulf. Page Gregory was not there to help Beowulf And Lucan was furious with Beowulf For accepting the challenge of so unworthy a knight. It came to be that Beowulf and Lucan had a quest Together. To shut up the Nile Dragon Who would attempt to Swallow the Daughter of Zion On that day. Beowulf and Lucan left In their armor, and Gregory Left Beowulf with these words: "Lucan cannot be trusted, "Do not believe a word he says "And be wary and wily of the things he does. "For Lucan is a savvy knight "Who only thinks of himself." Beowulf considered it, But knew it was not true. However, Lucan was furious with Beowulf For smiting the knight Rancor. Thus, Beowulf and Lucan set off on their journey. They would crusade down to Egypt. The Nile Dragon knew that they came, Thus he employed Nebo and Abaddon To come With the Elf Moegic And thus, cause Lucan more anger At his squire. Nebo came with his daughters Seventeen Thousand And Abaddon came with only himself. The two were chosen to be Pharaohs Kings of Egypt, And if they would slay Beowulf They would retain Egypt For themselves. Canto II It came to be, that in the salt valleys of Meggedon, Abaddon sought To conspire and therefore slay Beowulf the Less. Lucan and Beowulf---Gregory not behooved to come, For he could not--- Were on steed, Beowulf with Chantz And Lucan with his steed Crevan. Where Beowulf camped, Abaddon snatched him from his bed And took Beowulf to a village Where Beowulf would dream half his life away For sleep was better than the waking hour; Beowulf was captured by Abaddon Hencewith, he was brought to the low valleys. Now it was Abaddon who traveled with Lucan. Abaddon filled his mouth with many flatteries Toward Lucan. The two set out on the quest, but Abaddon was foolish, and no wisdom was in him. He did not slay Beowulf For he enjoyed the man's riddles. Thencewith, Abaddon walked with Sir Lucan Through the valleys of Meggedon Until they came to Africa's Gate. The two passed through But Abaddon was exceedingly happy, And more foolish than Lucan remembered Beowulf to be. However, Lucan fell to love Abaddon--- Because of his joy--- Like he were a son, and so pardoned Abaddon. For Lucan was enchanted. They walked for days Through the desert With its barren crags And salt rocks. It came upon the warfield, Nebo And his hordes of Daughters. Nebo, on his steed with leather skin, Was untransmogrified by the elf jewel; Thus, showed himself for what he truly be. He was leathery, and his ears a point; He was fat, and round, and gluttonous, His teeth were yellow And his lips were thin. His skin the color of ash, He had a face which was horrible To behold. Lucan mounted up on Crevan, And hoisted her javelin. "Beowulf, I have enjoyed your company "On this journey, yet now I go out to ride "Against this beast." Abaddon creased his lips into a grin Because he had loosened Lucan's armor When placing it upon him As was a squire's duty. Lucan hoisted up, and flung for Nebo. The seventeen thousand daughters of Nebo Flung down the mountain Into the bowled valley. The battle was gruesome As blood poured into rivers Through the ravines. Lucan had slaughtered so many Of Nebo's daughters. Nebo, thus, flung into a fit of rage And transformed himself Into a Giant. Lucan fell to a flight yet Lanced the Giant's foot; However, Lucan's armor joints came undone in battle And he was bare before the Giant's wrath. Abaddon danced a wicked dance And joined the fight against Lucan. He rushed at Lucan on Chantz However, Chantz knew 'twas Abaddon. So, Chantz stopped in mid gallop; Sofore, throwing Abaddon off his back. Lucan retreated toward Abaddon Trampling him with horse's hooves Seeing that he was not Beowulf But was Abaddon. Lucan fell into a sore fright That he was without his squire. Thus, Lucan galloped as fast as he could out of the battlefield. He had found himself in the Nile, And so discovered the black, fertile soil. There began to grow a vine from it And it shot out large, and heaved itself Upward. It grew tall into the sky Like the Tower of Babble, And it sprouted smaller vines from without it, Lit; it were starflesh. The Sphynx was spreading his vine All throughout the world A verdant weed, it Raised into the sky, and spread itself across the entirety of the earth. Lucan felt frightened, As he drew back on Crevan and galloped Toward his dominion. Lucan was no coward but saw that this vine had spread Throughout the whole of the world, And who was he to fight it? Howsofore, there came one who was beautiful. He took Lucan by the hand, And told him, "Do not give up on your son "He needs you and your love at this very hour. "For, Egypt is spreading its vine throughout the whole of the earth "And you must help him "By fighting back the fear "Of this vine, "To show him that he is still loved." Lucan had received a vision of Beowulf Encased in a place where he was rendered useless. Thus, Lucan had to go rescue him. For Gregory could not As only Lucan's love could free Beowulf from his curse. Only Lucan's forgiveness, and alliance Could free Beowulf from this unholy trap. Canto III It came to be that Sir Lucan traveled into The heart of Egypt, To the Tombs of the ancient Pharaohs. The Sphynx prowled With shifting shoulder blades. There rose mummies From their crypts Five of the pharaohs of the past. The Sphynx spake, "Lucan, if you can beat me "I shall spare thee from the Caerbanog. "And thy squire Beowulf shall live." Lucan, upon Crevan, hoisted up his javelin. "I will be angry with my squire "For fighting his feud with the Knight Rancor. "However, I see that he is a man. "And he has made his own choices." The Sphynx spake, "Choices, yes. "He has made many choices, "And smote down the knight Rancor. "And for this, we see you cannot forgive him." The mummies flung toward Lucan And it was all Lucan could do to stay Upon his steed. He would slash the mummies He would kill them Only to have them resurrect themselves With their moving limbs. "You do not know the moegic of Egypt. "These are stronger than Orcs "And cannot be killed "By one who harbors anger." "Beowulf was my friend, "My companion from long ago. "Now, he is broody "And sad, and I do not know if I can love him the same "For his sadness is of his own making." The Sphynx said, "Then, Lucan, he shall die." Lucan fell upon his knees As Crevan Whinnied. "He will die?" "Of course, a man cannot bear the despair "Of having one so close to him "Perpetually angry. "For, Beowulf is entrapped by his own despair. "And that despair we are using to fuel "The spreading of this vine "Which shall feed on the world's joy "And it shall replace all joy with despair "Just like your son's. "For his grief is a weapon "We use to throw down the nations "And to give them no joy henceforth. "How can a man who is innocent "Have no joy? It can only be "That Pharaoh's vine "Recompense the world "Double for what it has done to Beowulf." Lucan then spake, "What has the world done to Beowulf?" The Sphynx spake, "The world? "What had it done "But cast him into shame "Through its unforgiveness? "Beginning with yours "Which was harbored long before "He smote down Sir Rancor. "For, you had resented him "Ever since he had chosen "Gregory as his Page." Nebo and Abaddon receded into the corridor And drew their swords. "Now, see, Lucan, I can save you "From the Caerbanog, "The Fairy lORD "If you defeat me." The Sphynx grew haughty. "What are you Sphynx?" Cried Lucan. The Sphynx said, "I? I am the flow of the times." The five mummies flung forth To maul Lucan And Abaddon and Nebo Attacked her At once. It began to grow into a horrendous feud As the seven fought mortal combat. No matter how much they fought The seven prevailed over Lucan. Lucan saw the Sphynx Prowling like a lion From without the battle. "Yes, Lucan, I am the Zeitgeist. "I am the thing you cleave to. "Surrender Beowulf, "For he is not your son." Lucan cried out a mighty roar, "Beowulf is my son!" And so she threw her lance In a mighty strike against the Sphynx's Chest. It sunk deep into the Sphynx. The Sphynx was smitten. He fell dead upon the bier of the golden Tombs. The Sphynx was dead. There came from time the Caerbanog As it spread forth from the vines. For the vines were the Caerbanog. It lit its fiery glow, Yet, Beowulf flung from his sleep Where the Caerbanog hid him. Beowulf took Lucan And galloped with him From without the Pyramid. The whole of Egypt quaked, As Nebo and Abaddon Rushed from the tombs. Pharaoh was dead And the mummies were crushed From beneath the pyramid's falling Aedicules. The Caerbanog was spread throughout the whole land. Abaddon and Nebo disappeared from without the pyramid. After which, a quake, And the Caerbanog fell 'pon A hard fall; Its verdant vines Turned to ashen yellow. "Wot not you that thou would have perished "To this cruel vine "Had you not saved me from this "My spell?" Spake Beowulf. Lucan saw that the deuterocannon Of the analogs of Fairyland Were now altered. The Caerbanog was defeated. Thus, Beowulf could live his happy life. Thus, Beowulf lived happily ever after. XIV I Saw Truth with Her Lover I saw Truth with her lover In the dark; I took my raiment, and galloped far away To where I slew a knight in combat And took his woman from him. I had then found a tree Of which I wished to make her a garland from Yet the tree bled and spoke. He told me of a wicked sorceress Who made he and his lover into those trees. I had found, also, that the knight I slew Had two brothers. I found too many enemies Yet was I angry with the Truth For her adultery; For why would she be in another's bed And not mine, when I was her betrothed? I had not seen t'wasn't her In that bed, but rather the apparition of Morpheus. For Truth, she seemed, slept nude with Hecate Yet it was only a magical spell Which made Truth seem a whore. XV Trivia, riddle odes And weave webs of lies. Every word you speak is Invented from the world, You make yourself more ancient than Hecate Who stands with her torch. You occupy yourself with every fact that contradicts Strange, ancient wisdom. The Love of the Two Peaches Is constructed, born a twelvemonth ago. Yet, it is born as ancient wisdom. Trivia, you weave a web Of factoids. Wisdom can still be purchased So the ancient accents are known. Paul Revere did ride a midnight ride Yet, Trivia, you make Boston's Massacre Riot control--- It was a massacre. Auld Lang Syne replaces "You're A Grand Ol' Flag" And Trivia, Mnemosyne is silently demented So all acquaintance is forgot. Good men are turned into Joseph, Yet all his mourners are comforted For great lies are being spun by Trivia. It soon becomes apparent The Love of the Two Peaches Isn't ancient. Neither was the City of Sodom one which stood ancient. For there is truth: And it is hidden By you Trivia. XVI Sing, oh wary ship traveler. Cyrus sees your weary eyes As the watch prowls the street Asking for bribes, and stirring the Little townsfolk into their homes. Prosperous was the land you fled to. Prosperous, and kind Until Sin's dark shadow grew over the basin Of the gorges. O! If you only knew our freedoms If you only knew. Cyrus, stir the Medes Stir the Medes Stir the Medes. Cyrus spoke, "I would cut them to pieces "And rip out their throats. "I would ravish the town squares "And purge the evil of this land. "I shall not spare their children. "I shall not spare the rod. "For I destroy even the Babes "When I go to war." O! Babylon! Prepare for war For the peoples desire the law of Yah And scorn the laws of Sin. From the East, from the North From the South, comes the armies Of Persia and Media. Sing o strong ones For freedom is meted And the war shall be fierce. Weapons shall unsheathe their naked steel And in one night the battle shall be lost For thee, o Babylon. For the Barren ones in the East And the Barren ones in the South And the Barren ones in the North Are ashamed of you. XVII Dark and ancient truths Which still burgeon in the world today. American soldiers slaughter children. Iraqi soldiers violate women. War still gets fought by civilized countries. Were you offended by Cyrus? Yet our modern wars are fought just the same. Children die in bombings, Women are violated Men slaughter one another. What justifies war? What justifies the crimes attributed to war? War is the supreme evil. What justifies it? When is it justified to commit all atrocious evils? Surely there is a time, But now is not it. XVIII Let me fight our wars in verse. Purge the violence from our souls. Let me... Let me speak of rebellion Of slaughtering Of killing Of being unkind. Let me tell you of war You who wishes to kill the children You who wishes to violate the women You who wishes to plunder the spoil From the homes. Men die--- The very strangers I sing about The very souls who occupy my verse. These men, they die Picking up the rifle. Let me tell you the raw, uncensored Emotion of war. What kings feel when they send their troops into battle. Children are to be dashed against the stone. Women are to be ripped apart Their breasts ripped open And their bodies made into a heated flash of fury. No... what I write ought to be offensive Because you burgeon close to war. These things you all will be guilty of. So, let my poesy purge you of the evil. Show you the guilt. I'll draw you close to suicide I'll draw you close to homicide And then you can inch back And say, like it were a dream, "I had never done it." To know the feeling of a man's warm blood Upon hands--- I do not know it, but I know the feeling Of battle. I will show you, And let you meditate on it. For is my verse offensive? It ought to be. For both Woke and Nazi youths Will die with one another's Fluids upon them. Blood, guts and the ravished. My poem should be offensive. For war is offensive. Do you wish to walk to the brink? Do you wish to learn the regret Of having taken another's life? Of having violated someone? Will your conscience ever be made whole After knowing and tasting violence? So I say, eat with trembling. Drink with haste. Prepare your hearts for war. And if it doesn't come Give a sigh of relief. XIX Xenophanes, you poetically, and surgically Weave your origins of doubt. You find God to be cruel More like man than actual deity. I see the traces of wisdom in you How you want an origin of God's being And callously say, "Christ is only two thousand years old." Yet, ancient was the deity Who gave Moses Law, and more ancient was the deity Who gave some of which to Abraham Hammurabi's law; El is Hebrew for God And El is traced to Mesopotamia To be worshiped at the time of Melchizedek and Abraham. El, it turns out has a Son. The Scholars at Oxford and Yale Say, "It is the cult of righteousness." Yet, I say it is not so. What cult of righteousness springs up in China? What cult springs up in Greece? As if this God's truths were universal Found throughout West and East And firstly discovered in the Middle of the world? Greeks found Word, Charity, Agape Chinese found Tao, Filial Respect, and Universal Love. Jesus is the Word, is the perfect picture of Filial Respect and Charity and Love. How cultures found morality independent of one another. Yet, there are those who contest it. And Xenophanes, you find them Secreted in your doubt that man had anthropomorphized God. And that is what causes you to doubt. Yet, I see the same notions springing up in separate cultures Meaning there must Be. What is there? What can be found? If it's there to discover Who put it there? And these my God answers When He took on Human Flesh. No other satisfies it; Yet predicted at the beginning of human civilization--- When one man and another agreed upon their social contracts And thus forth bore rule--- Is the fingerprint of my God. That El, the nameless deity Had a Son And from this sprung what academics call "The Cult of Righteousness." And then I find philosophers discover those same truths. I say to myself, "The evidence is overwhelming. "And then add to it the Heavens and Isaiah's scroll;---the stories written in the constellations." I find one hundred percent proof that God is the Hebrew's God And that God's Word put on the Flesh of Man. XX Cyrus, I understand you The way you think. I know you from the inside How you have petulant doubts Yet rage at the heathen. I know you rage against God And seek to destroy Him. Yet I also know you secretly wish To use his laws to exact vengeance on this world. You do not believe in God You do not... But His laws are enticing as an engine To siege the Capitol And to tear down walls and bulwarks; To stir Media and Persia Against Assyria and Babylon. I know you from the inside And your rage which burns toward the infidel. Religion to you is a tool The Messiah an engine which you will use To usher in your reign. Alas, I stand here Arguing with you for the second time As you tell me, "On your death bed "You will say as Jesus said, "My God, My God, Why Have You Forsaken Me?" Yet you take slaves, While you dash the infants upon the rocks. Christian you do not hate--- No, you love God's people. For it is in you to love God's people. Yet you rage against God as Satan himself And you move upon your holy quest to purge Sin's temple from the world. I see you in my thoughts and visions And I am like you So it disturbs me greatly. I am gentle, and meek; You are a warrior Believing in the law of my God Right down to the tittle--- Yet you do not believe in God. Such a strange doubt in you That I feel in my chest But I do not understand why you believe in my God's law But not the God Himself? Is it, like so many Jewish men You like the burdens of lamb stew and drink oblations? I say to you, You will be used to purge the land of its idols. That is what you wish. Yet it is I who shall prosper in the LORD's name For I will declare my portion That your rage may be just But it is not a wholesome intention to Desire to fix the world. XXI Alas, I call you Cyrus in this book. But you are not Cyrus. You are Nero. XXII Gahanna was shrouded in mystery As the Styx flows through the Acheron; Descended into the deep Son of a king, you trifle there. King of the scouts The minstrels sing of you In the woven dreams of Morpheus. The gum of Acacia is upon your thigh Yet I rejected it, for such is the disease Of mind, which your magic spun Through dirt and vulgarity. You sought me, and you found Cyrus. You found me, yet you were but a boy And our lives crossed on the banks of the Susquehanna. I do not know what powers are over me... Only that an Acquaintance, a man my equal, So says David, Whom I had counsel with in the LORD's house Will betray me. Forsooth, such a strange thing to be That it was a happy accident Which brought you to my humble life; Yet you should be one plotting against me. XXIII The Savanna is rubicund With delightful golden grains. Most gorgeous are her valleys With the hills among the rolling veldt. I, the animal, enraged By Serengeti hunger Am driven into mindfever Where I cannot perceive Nor understand; No, I am crazed by possibilities. If I had you, your plains would be mine And I would be the lion Within his Pride. There would be only nature and I. It would be of no use For only the air of the veldt Could satisfy me Should I be satisfied by you. I would desire nothing more And would never wander from my bounds In the safelands, Where poachers could not find me. For I will stay upon your plains And meander among your hills. XXIV There is an Amazon in the forest. Lusty she is, bare, exposed Easy to take and be pleased. Yet, she will tear you limb from limb And take your leg upon her gnashing teeth. She will bite it, with blood down her chin And her hair is knotted with the blood of men. Pleasing she seems far away Until you come close to her And she is too big for loves. You cannot marry her But become her slave Where she will malign you And break your spirit. I say, I have seen the Amazon kingdom And it is frightening. All men stay indoors And are frightened to peep Out the lattice, For the giantess walks among them. Elephant for steed And lust in her eyes. XXV Though you speak untruth Sor Juana, And always turn the right for the worse My love for you waxes Like the moon, But it shall never wane. Violent, you protected your blessed young Though worthless men tried to steal Your fruit from you. And he is blessed The fruit of your womb. For you had taken your wounds And stripes, and your joy was made fruitful A man, more intelligent than I. More blessed than I on this earth. A man who possesses the sea And all of beauty.. Though you do not speak Words which are wise to the ears Your zeal and love for your child Is a light to my eyes And a longstanding gem And treasure in my heart. When men malign your name I speak in its defense. For there is speech--- And what of us have not been silly in our years?--- And then there is action. And though you speak I know you act upon your better nature. And for that I love you, Sor Juana. And I always shall. XXVI Cain, you present your grain offering. Your two hands labored day and night For the produce of the field. You present your offering And say, "Look upon my fruit "It is good." Lot, however, gave his beloved daughter To appease the lust of the Sodomites. Broken by this, and also the loss of his wife, Cain, you look upon him and say, "What had this man done that was good? "He gave of his women to be maligned by Sodomites." Lot, who loved his daughter, Felt maligned an entire lifetime For this sin. He had cried day and night Yet, it was either her, or the Holy Being. For, they would be slaughtered By lust, had Sodom's lust not been appeased. Oh, Cain, you look upon him, disgusted. Then you say, "My brother is poor "Why had not my mother killed him in the womb? "For he grew to be a lazy shepherd "And does nothing all day, except peer "Into the stars of heaven "And spin Idle tales by which he wishes to teach the peoples. "He is lazy, and is a degenerate. "For I know his sins, that he has done far "More wickedly than I. "Therefore, why had not my mother buried him "And his poverty in the womb? "For I am rich, and right, "And have grown my crop by my own sweat. "And all my brother did was stand in the green field "To tender his flock." XXVII Censures of the Ass He wants evidence for God's existence; Beauty comes under attack, censorship Threatens to destroy all things of conscience. Evidence, he claims, yet it is his whip Which tortures him like the mad Catholic. Holy is his crusade, holy and thick; Offended and driven mad by beauty That the mountains are hoary and frostbit That the trees are wooded, and the ponds green--- He, with his unholy, black candles lit Sings his prayers to the form of ash decay. Angelic voices he forbids to pray; Evidence is what he seeks to destroy:--- Art he calls pretentious; beauty a ploy. XXVIII Some lies are sown by the minds of worthless Men, who, knowing that they have lost their war, Will seed a tare of doubt to germinate Many decades later. It is cunning At its finest, to fallow the soil Of another generation to take Up the Burdens of the Past and spill blood. By it, crafty Fascists tilled Christian men's Hearts, and sown their seeds into the future Through ignorance of the past, and factoids. Some fascists place condemnation on tongues So to wag at long forgotten heroes. Others sow their seeds, using Christ's good name To then crucify devout believers. All the while a chorus sings their hymn To summon bestial intelligence,--- To blaspheme what is holy in heaven And to call what is beautiful, grotesque. XXIX I The idiot said on national TV Disparaging religion once again, "It is religion that separates us "And maligns the human spirit! "If we just got rid of it, people would have peace." His raging lunatics cry for a third of the earth to be lobotomized. Oh, yes, I read how Prods and Papes Hate each other in Ireland. Eerily, I see a different truth. How Blue and Red hate each other In America, And Democrat and Republican Hate each other. No... there is bitterness enough To be expelled from a man's house Should you consent to the wrong flash of insignia. Or, shall I talk to these idiots About race? How mobs burn down Manhattan Because of skin color And stores are looted because of class struggles? Really, maybe we ought to be adealistic. Then, perhaps we'd have peace But the idiots I referred to Have managed to give Hitlerian mindset To atheists, who assume themselves good atheists Only, throw the unruly Jews---I mean Christians--- Into the Gas Chambers. Should I ever talk to that idiot I don't think I could speak. He's an excellent rhetorician Who turns a news article about how Hitler was not a Catholic And sources it in a debate To prove that Hitler was. Frankly, I'm about tired of it But in that little microcosm I cannot understand--- Why do Catholics and Protestants hate each other? I liken it to something that isn't religion--- It's just hate, and hate comes in many colors. II No, I'm not talking about you. Perhaps it is that you don't understand That educated men have taken the Idiot's Thoughts, construing it to launch a crusade Against religion. But this Idiot, Misjudging Christianity as the force of evil in the world Mistakes what is something primal For something artificial. Wars between Prods and Papes Are as equal as a civil war Defining what slavery is. And it is hardly a thing common to religion Slavery. Obviously, Your impression of Christianity Is that we like to kill people who disagree with it And that we go around starting Nazi revolutions And banning books about evolution. Silently, I understand your contemplation Though simple. Reality is often nuanced And often bad men have no real ideology beside power. It is that, since the worst of humanity has been touched in this soul To understand what it is that drove Hitler. And certainly it was not the teachings of Christ. Christ, who would be despised by Hitler As Jesus is a Jewish Name. I look at you, And see you influenced by the same Idiot I'm talking about Giving your factoids about how Nazis censored Things which they deemed destructive to the "Volk". You are likely not wise enough to understand it. I do, however. Religion unites a people So does skin color So does nationality. And you reject the fact That the religion was going to be a bait and switch Where men replaced Yah with Thor and Odin. No, it was not Christianity. It was human nature. As simple as a Blood and Crypt killing each other on Harlem's street That is as simple as the in-group out-group phenomena Which you blame on my humble religion. Often my religion has been in the out-group And persecuted by all men... At least the true devotees to my religion. You rage, you rant But I do not blame you for your mistake. I understand what you're saying. But I understand it is easy to look at the artifice And see Hitler built a tower with the remains of Christian mortar. In that, I suppose you're right. It is the worst of religion But it is also the worst of Atheism: It is the worst of ideology; As you do not see it, But I see in your atheism the same kind of destructive heresy That led Catholics into the Dark Ages And led Hitler to slaughter millions of my people. Perhaps you will not see it because you are blinded by it. And with that, It is why I silently bow away from you And let you be led by your Idiot leader. When you want true wisdom, Come here and read and drink From Brandon's Water. XXX I Is poetry an expression of the self? Or is it an expression of the truth? II Are all our minds just solipsist teacups And no man, however penetrating Can truly know what is in another man's heart? Is all our poetry simply an expression of self? Or does a stranger share in our sufferings? Can there be an utterance of the truth Something true for all men Or even just two? Can there be an expression, A word uttered that is truly understood? Can the best poets be penetrated Or are we trapped in eternal silence Of the solipsist called our soul? We reach outward, but do we truly see The world for what it is? Do we share our sight Or are all men that of blindness And can only see what is seen for them? Are we truly alone In our bodies Our souls an isolated remnant Which travels, And it is only us and our sufferings? No one to reach out to No one to truly know us Nor no one we can truly know? Are we just solipsists? The answer, I do believe Is no. XXXI Siegfried Asher, among the Choir I heard your song, like a Castrato Androgynous. Hermaphroditous, Among God's elect, singing The hymns, beautif'lly The hymns,---melodious, sonorous. At a point within the music You touch a note, and realizing its sheer Magnificence, it pleases you,---like Aphrodite You make the gathering fall in love. XXXII Drink wine. Make love. Merry the heart a bit With the pleasantry of vaginal skin. Oh, Dionysius, to whom Kingdoms Are but a game, and legions march out to war On orders, by programming upon the screen. They march, as you work upon them To get the droves to do your bidding. You wade in your underground hot springs And you dine upon flesh and flagons. Then, you hide from me your sin In our conversation, like a Roan Cleveland Bay. No, for all are guilty, but this you cannot admit to your own guilt. You hide it, oh Northern Prince, Your claims for evidence behooves you As piously you sit upon your throne in your den. You sit upon it, telling me there is no evidence for your sin. When, it is written all over your shameful acts To try and humiliate me. For humiliate me you did, for I cannot call to mind The potions you have drunken, The women you have made love to Nor the roughness by which you treat your own kin. To me, oh Dionysius, You are like royalty;--- Far beyond this jester fool Whose given the license can critique you. For you are like royalty, And I am like screed. My words have none affect upon you. They do not move you. They bore you. They are sonorous sermons To wit, namely, should I shame you like you have shamed me I cannot. For my shame is in the open And yours is locked away tight in your underground labyrinth. I speak of this to your benefit, that Yes, most men are guilty of the same shame as I. In one form or another. Laid the orgies of Dionysius, It is like murder upon your soul. And I, wishing to ease you from your sins Have been humiliated by you When you point to mine. For mine is a matter of public record. And yours is not. XXXIII I hate the tastes of the populous So I follow my muse where she leads me. I see a wicked man cannot believe in God But a righteous man cannot but help proclaim the name of Jesus. Wherever I go, I see in people's heart a light And the older they get, the more it dims. It's like when a young maid loses her virginity A dark frown furrows her brow. Her glow becomes dim And her inner light ceases to shine. Or a young man who has heart and courage And is like a lion, without knowledge of a woman When he enters into her, he too loses that innocence. Virginity ought to be prized, As once it's gone, it never ceases to be a vapor. Yet, a woman who was molested does not cease to be a virgin. She is not consenting, yet I do see she loses some of her inner light. Not for what she had done, but for what she had done to her. And it is a shameful thing among the sons of men. Yet, I also see men caught in a summary offense Whom having offended the virgin they had deflowered Be accused of committing a more heinous crime. For a fifty dollar fine, they find themselves shackled. I do not say it is injustice, for the woman ought to have been married And her lost virginity cries out to her Though many women pretend like it is not so. I look also to the wind, and see change comes To correct bad behaviors of the past. What looks wretched and tyrannical Is actually a chain which binds evil nations. It wraps around them, and it chokes out the sin; And while we all suffer for a while because of it Soon, it is better left that sex be for a married couple And for procreation. For, the nude show of woman's skin Is something she does feel guilty for, And though she shows her breezier at work The men who stare at it are condemned. And that whip chastises them, Yet the lack of love in her life chastises her. For all had been exposed for the purpose of vanity And still, that vanity cannot hide its shame. So, I look to the current age and say, "Is it that I must suffer too?" And the answer is yes. For a short time, and then it will pass like a raincloud. Yet, the dark storm is wrought by God To correct our foul notions. XXXIV The sheep with the Golden fleece Was tasked by a divorced bride To bring her children across the sea And to save them from the jealousy Of their stepmother. It dropped the girl into the water. And she, unapologetically, disappeared Without a second thought in the narrative. XXXV To avoid the tyranny of The stepmother's disloyal rage She sent her two children upon A lamb to swim them o'er the bay. The daughter fell off the sheep's loin. She drowned, while the boy was then saved. In this journalism I see Vacuous truth, unconscious in That it had no symbol, nothing The storyteller of the fleece Would wish to cause us pay heed. Rather, no moral does it spin No deep truth for a heart to win. Yet a past land's conscience it leaves. XXXVI Phusis and Chronos Purple hair of the setting sun's fire, With robes of the sky's daytime amethyst--- Her sandals are peridot sward, nestled In the earth of her skin's sun-kissed velvet. Her eyes are the ocean's green, with glass foam. She wears the skins of all the beasts she took In combat; the insects are her jewels. She is betrothed to Time as man and wife. As time will age, so will she weaken. Until the two pass on to the heavens. For nature grows weaker, as time passes On, and the more unnatural man becomes The time of Nature's magic wanes, so with Her love, and mercy and her swells of joy. Until she dies, and so does Time, and the White Rider comes upon clouds of heaven. XXXVII A Poem in Iambic Tetrameter The truth is ne'er as strong in wise As lies which speak in quickened fire;--- For specious words which lies surmise Are stronger than the spoken truth. But words well thought, in clever fay Do shine on minds who mull away A day's eve in one single thought. XXXVIII Sistine Chapel Michelangelo, the cretic beauty of your namesake, Let me diverge from my folksy wisdom, and sing Upon this lute the song of your Sistine Chapel. No, I shall not use my utterances which bring on songs' Mystic echoes, to my rigid verse and primal Muse of meters sung without their feet conforming to the Standards of the ancient lores, spun upon papyrus cloth. I watch and listen to the sage who says your art was dulled By the washing of a thousand hands which stripped from Them their shadow like the cross shall strip away our sin. And, yet, it is the most precious sight my eyes had ever seen. For by the sins of careless hands, a sin brought grace to me. For wrong it was to strip the work its shadowed veil; Yet not a thing more beautiful had my eyes ever prevailed. For Christ, our sin, shall wash away, to scrub off our darkened shadow. And by this washing, because we sinned, we shall be beauty's mallow. XXXIX Thou Disagreeable Abductor, Onusion---have you any skill At portmanteau...? Two maids sleep in your bed--- You live a life of leisure upon the earth Like a king with his harem. You plough your heifers with the row And you make the Jewess cry. You spread your seed. You write works And with your prowess You bring them to the world. Me in all my compassion Cannot take but a few To hear my desperate pleas. Yet you amassed a great following And fortune. I spend years mastering my craft. And I am not paid. I am not successful. Your enemies feed you For you are more alike with them Than I. XXXX The songs of Melkor fill the land And all the bards must dull their thoughts; The lutes and pipes and strings do wane To the primeval rhythm's drum. Words are their most raw utterance And all wise words are now called wrong. XXXXI Canto I There stood in the plains a warrior Whose name was ancient as the days are long. He travelled from very far To the land of mystical Greece. From his home in Zion He travelled to the Athenian shores Where he landed, and saw a culture Much unlike anything he had seen previously. Brittos disembarked from his galleon With Chantz his steed, A black stallion with no blemish on it. He took and led Chantz by foot Stroking the horse's gentle face. He saw many strange things. There were women in love with women, Men in love with men. There were men who dressed as women And women who dressed as men. Some, by way of moegic, Made themselves of the very sex. The only thing which showed them What they were, was the face And even some had faces which none could Tell were of a man or woman's. He saw the philosophers, The Ionians, The Atomists The Evolutionists, The Pythagoreans. He saw much knowledge In this city, where men rode upon their steeds. He heard of the gods of this region Baalim whose mischief with the science of Babylon Was strong. Yet, none were of the thirteen Save Minerva, who once ruled over the Grecian borders. Brittos saw their marble homes, The plenteous activities, The Olympics in their nude displays. He saw the Parthenon, the Domes The Aqueduct, the Pantheon The Hanging Archways Taught to these Greeks by the Etruscans. 'twas not as beauteous as Brittos' home With the Sistine Chapel, Sophia and Notre Dame. But it had the same aqueducts; It had the same warmed waters. Yet these men took their aqueducts And made their pools Where the men had their sodomous orgies And the women's mouths were filled. Brittos marveled at Their wisdom... They had knowledge of the cosmos They had knowledge of the beginnings of the earth They had knowledge of the waters The seas, the gardens. Their science was exact And brought pleasure to the whole land Like none before them Save Nebuchadnezzar's kingdom. Canto II Brittos found among them a champion. His name was Hercules. Much like a Nethinim was he. Therefore, Brittos challenged him to a wrestling match. Brittos, thin and white, and wiry Was looked at by their champion. Hercules scoffed at him. "Look at you, gangly, spindly limbs "And skin as pale as the daisy. "You wish to challenge me? "A god?" Brittos disrobed. "I wish to challenge any who "Would call themselves a god. "For, I had slain gods before. "Thor and Athena." Hercules scratched his chin. "You had slain Minerva? "In these days, we call that goddess Minerva. "And you claim to have slain her?" "Yes, good sir. And I wish to test my bout with you "To prove that a man is mightier than a god." Hercules scoffed. "I am as strong as one thousand men. "I had cleaned out the Augean stables, "Had borne the Earth on my shoulders, "To unburden Atlas, "Had defeated the Hydra, "And had wrestled Antaeus in the garden of Hesperides" Brittos nodded his head, And said to Hercules, "These are fine feats. "Since we boast before combat "I had defeated Thor and Athena both in mortal combat. "I had beaten the ladies Grea "I had overcome the Chok who could bend a Nethinim's verse "I had even overcome the Giant's Soul." Hercules paused. "You had defeated a giant?" Brittos said, "Nay, not a giant, but even worse. "A Giant within me." Hercules rubbed his chin again. "I say, you have slain a god, "Of this I know "For I too have subdued one. "And this Thor, I do not know "But you speak of him "The same as Minerva "So I assume he rules over a different land." "Yes," said Brittos. "I sense there is great power in you." "No, none whatsoever. All my faith flows "Through the LORD Jesus." Hercules spake, "My strength flows through "Knowing what is right "For I had sailed with Jason "To attain the Golden Fleece. "I did it to attain riches for the impoverished. "And riches I had won from that." "Then it is righteousness that holds you to "Your victories. Saved, I had been afflicted by the Giant's Soul "And I had done much wrong by it." Hercules was affronted by this. "You had done much wrong by the Giant's Soul? "Then are you evil?" Brittos bowed. "I am as evil as any man. "But, if I subdue you "You shall see it is not my righteousness "That makes me strong. "You will see that it is grace. "For all men have done wickedly on the earth." Hercules turned his head around him Seeing a mighty crowd had gathered for the battle. "Do we take to weapons? "Must I slay you, since you are wicked? "And you have committed crimes?" Brittos said, "I had been afflicted by your emperor, "Nero, who had done to me "What he sought well to do. "For I had worldliness in my heart." Hercules then said, "How can unrighteousness "Beat a hero like me? "You had done wrong--- "Much from what you say "And I had freed men and women "From their plights." Brittos then said, "But I too had freed men and women--- "I had defeated an entire army "Of Thor's with the jawbone I plucked from one "Of their square chins." Hercules then spake, "Well, I have had enough of this. "We take to combat. "I shall pin you "And prove that it is my strength "Which overcomes weakness "And that you shall fall "By your wicked devices." Brittos then spake, "Yet, if I win, it will "Show that grace is stronger "Than my great surplus of sins. "And that it is not strength which wins in combat "But the deliverance of Christ." Hercules, with his muscles and skin Burnished by the oils of many olives Was thrice the size of Brittos. The two threw off all their clothes In Greek fashion. Canto III Brittos and Hercules Bull rushed into one another, Their arms like horns, Taking into their hands The sinews of each other's triceps. They both writhed in that fashion Trying to throw the other to the ground And therefore win their points. Brittos would not let Hercules escape his grip To which Brittos flung forward And tackled his opponent to the ground. Hercules and Brittos strove upon the shale For fifteen minutes. Hercules spake, "I am more righteous than you "And I shall prove it by defeating you!" Brittos saw his enemy hold equal strength So he exerted all his effort to thrust The opponent to the ground. The two made wild jerks To which Hercules and Brittos Both scored many points. Hercules then spake, "I have more points than you "So, your only hope of winning is to pin!" Brittos knew this a lie, But took to thrust his opponent To the shale beneath him. Brittos had commanded the fight Yet Hercules spake, "I am beating you. "You are not righteous "Brittos. I am righteous "I had done many feats of good works "And you have none, save the sins "You overcame within you." Brittos thrust forward Breaking his opponent's armhold on the shale Sofore, he swung around Hercules' four-anchored body To get atop of him. Hercules spake, "I shall beat you. "For you are unrighteous. "I have many works of heroism. "And all you have done "Is conquer your demons." Brittos then spake, "I shall prevail "For Christ's grace covers me." The two escaped one another. Hercules, then, thrust his hand Into Brittos' throat And the two knelt, facing one another. Hercules spake, "I shall squeeze as tight as I can "Your throat, and I shall kill you. "That shall prove that you are wicked." Hercules squeezed as hard as he could Choking Brittos. Brittos then spake, "If I am evil, then kill me. "I do not wish to live if I am evil. "Let us make this pact "That if I am evil "You shall prevail and kill me "Hence here, to prevent my eternal suffering. "For if you prevail, "And kill me, I shall know that I am evil. "But if I prevail, "I shall know that Christ covers all my sins "From now, and furthermore forever hencewith. "Even if all my sins be exposed." Brittos, thus, stood upon his nimble feet And thrust himself between the gap Of Hercules' knees. Hercules tumbled over and Brittos thrust himself overtop Of Hercules. "You can only win by a pin "And I shall never let you pin me!" Cried Hercules. Brittos spake to Hercules, "I shall pin you, "And you shall see that Grace is stronger than your heroic deeds! "For in you is murder "And it had not even once crossed my mind "Nor entered into my thoughts!" Brittos pushed down upon the shoulders Of the hulking Hercules And squared his shoulders to the shale For five seconds. Hercules spake, "You hadn't pinned me for three seconds." Yet, it was for five seconds which Brittos pinned Hercules. The match ended And Hercules vanished without a trace. The battle had been won By Brittos, Yet the Pride of Grecian Honor Forbade Hercules to admit defeat. For to a Greek Sin can never be atoned for. XXXXII The net is set before, And the Fowler garners his devices. Oh! Steel trap! It is sprung and wound taught. He seethes with venom And with his black veil He shows himself as violet light! He dawns the clergy's robe And stands above Beyond, with his fowler's instrument set. The congregation dances in their red hooves And cloven feet, As the witches draw their enneagrams. They do their dances Ecstatic with the tongues of asps. They bow, they raise They dance to the light of their own fires And they say, "I see." The Black Priest Raises, in the robes of Baptist's flannel They shout their glorious shouts In ecstasies, They gorge and smoke their peace pipes Outside of their Holy Cloisters. They speak of life now, And they speak of prosperity To call forth holy visions to bring them their good Fortune, and their just deserts. He draws his cup, with the pentagon Pits at the back of his church Where he sacrifices the goats. He destroys the content man's life With his counsel he gives to the man's wife Impregnating her with her desire for life. He implants this same desire in his whole flock As the fanatics bear their arms And draw forth their swords Ready to wage the Holy War of Armageddon. He calls forth his armies from the woods Whom he has also impregnated with the desire to live. He speaks of gaining beauty in the wife And of physique and flesh. He sways in his black robes And hood dawned which prevents his face from being seen. He is the Judas Priest Presiding over the Black Sabbaths. He is our modern Preacher Preaching the good work of self content And prosperity, likening this fallen world To the land of milk and honey. He says, "Heaven is a place on earth," And he tells his troop to take it To slurp down the victuals and to feast upon The sea's fats. Prosperity, beauty, contentment, These are his sermons To a lost generation. Saying to them, "Receive your bounty "For you shall provide for yourself! "The poor are a scourge upon the earth "And the rich are the inheritors of the land. "The meek are all sinners "And those who mourn are chief among the blasphemers. "Those who are poor in spirit, they are the filth that we despise "And those who are peace makers, they we hate because we love war." The congregation spins in their pews, And dance to the beats They sing their magical chaunts, They shout their "Hallelujah" To the Jesus of Suburbia. And though they sprout wings The net flung into the air. And only the righteous escaped.
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