The Writing on the Wall

The writing was on the wall.

I had not forsaken the world

Therefore my name would be an everlasting reproach.

The wars of my childhood convicted me

As the gun I had fought wars with was pieced together

Before my very friends.

I awoke to hear a woman sighing in pleasure.

I had thought I had grieved my God…

But it was the sighing of a woman in pleasure.

Written on the wall was “Megiddo.”

Megiddo is a punishment for sinners.

I awoke from the dream

And cried out to my God,

“Do not make my name an everlasting reproach!”

He listened.


I had dreamt that I was a contemptible man.

That I had murdered.

That I had destroyed

I had committed adultery with every fair woman in the land.

Those who go out to war,

They shall be killed by the sword.

Those who tarry for their brother’s wife

They shall be put to death.


There was an overwhelming flood.

My dad and I were swimming

And the floods were up to our necks.

Great was the flood.

Beneath was my brother whose name I spoke aloud,

Who had drowned.

I had grieved because he had drowned.

My dad had said, “He hadn’t drowned.”

But, yea, he was drowned.

We both, however, my dad and I, were swimming strong

And survived the flood.


I sat at a church.

There was a band.

Those I knew who were listening, at my right side

Fled my side for another

Who tried to murder me,

But I had ministered the Gospel to him

And made great peace with him.

They fled to him

But the singer sung, “You should have let it go.”

She spoke of the world.

I had asked a prophet,

And he said, “Are you sure they didn’t leave

“To see the band better?”

“No,” I replied, “They left me

“To sit with that other man.”

I saw that same prophet in the Spirit

When he was but a lad,

And he said, “God will touch you.”

I trembled, knowing either good or evil awaited me.


Let God be my judge.

Not I, not the world

Not my brethren.

All I know is this:

“Jesus is the LORD,”

And with that,

I have failed many times before.

I have sinned many times before.

I have hated and called my brother “Raca”.

I will not call him “Raca” again.

I, rather, will say all this guilt belongs to me.

Though, I am not sure whether it does

Because I have no wont of it.

And if the guilt does belong to me

Lay it upon Christ, and not I.

Not I! Let me never have done

The things I have dreamt about.

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