Job was a good man who hadn't sinned
But his friends laid accusations on him.
He suffered for heaven's purple mists, 
And golden roads, its thick, opal towers
Of red and green, made with Gold like Jasper
Stone, stretched from Earth to the white moon above.
Its pearl gates like a mollusk shell
Sheened with opalescent cornflower blues
Gradient with whites and silver glean.
The City of Zion twelve-thousand furlongs high,
Rise a city on a hill, made with Ruby
Emerald towers, of a worldcity's 
Base and breadth, of thick, mile square bases,
The towers rise like New York's or Dubai's.
There Job sat in pastures with boiled hands
And pustule growths---from Shingles, lay he bare.
His friends upon the green, green grass sat, raw,
Telling him things which were never fair.
"For youthful sin, he certainly did
"For this he must pay an awful price."
The blue sky above, and the wooden
Cottages, somewhere dappled upon the 
Landscape, with the livestock white and black,
There they lowed, and lorned and men labored
While Job sat accused for sin he'd not commit.
The four men sat in a circle, saying,
"For complaint and sin and bitterness
"You know Joseph never laid a mournful Hymn,
"For it is sin which is why you suffer,"
Yet Job knew he suffered for his Bride Wisdom.
Beelzebub, a red satyr, with cloven 
Hooves, and sculptured chest, haunches a furry Ram's,
Sat with black and needly, and disfigured
Things, with sandstone caverns lit with licking flame.
They worked their webs of lies so raw, with blood
Drenched from the cavern floors, to the maimed
Figures shackled upon the beige walls of hell.
There men were crucified, yet not like Christ 
For they shall never suffer death again.
Job thought mightily on these things how wrong
It was for he to suffer for naught he'd done.
Yet, the Law's precept came to mind so sweet,
"Unrighteous men find Wisdom's demands
"To be like that of a contentious bride.---
"Yet listen to her, and make loves to her
"And though she rebuke you, at the end is life."

Blame a man for idleness, yet needless toil is also a sin. Striving for vanity, and working tirelessly to be fed, is a sin.
Misfortune happens to all men. It is not their fault. 
I have chosen wisdom as my bride, and chosen wisdom as my cup. I have chosen the place at the LORD's feet.
I have pored over the evidence, and am satisfied that my God is real.
I have chosen to pursue Him, and not the world's vanities.
I have chosen peace, over strife.
I have chosen love over vanity.
Woe to the man who judges me... For I have done my work and not in vain nor secret.
I am open to the world, and the whole world sheds light upon me, saying,
"Look at this man, he is but vanity."
I shall laugh them to scorn, even false brethren who berate me.
Is it true, that a man must work to the bone, and be in perpetual toils for his mouth?
If he has no son or daughter with which to feed, no wife with which to take care of?
Why judge'st me, then, thou man? Why speak of me, "He is an idle liar?"
I speak the truth.
Does a man having spent fifteen years on labor reap no reward?
Does a man, who is not a slave, reap vanity for work they have done?
No, for I have gained wisdom above fine gold, and truth as my innermost being.
When I am gone, I will be awarded a name which does not perish.
For I, I, I have found the LORD. Selah.

One of the best ways to know the Exodus was real
Is that it was almost unilaterally resisted
By the people. Any man writing fiction
Who wished to indoctrinate and make servile
His audience, wouldn't have included a critical story
About how people would wander for forty years 
In a desert, and at every turn resist the leader God appointed to them.
They'd rather, be like Muhammad writing his book, 
And make everything glorious victories.
Rather, you get a sense of the reality, that anyone lost
In a wilderness for forty years would be bound to frustration and doubt.
And at the last, seeing Moses held his position through it all,
Is the greatest miracle, that only God could stop those people from deposing him.

By name America lives
Only by name.
Spies enter into the homes of innocent men,
And take their books,
And change them.
They make Edna St. Vincent the author of "First Fig".
Several months earlier, it was another author's name.
I had read the poem...

Is it the same for you?
Are these tools of ignorance
A weapon used against me only
Or is it the altering of the very fabric of history?
Is it a lie of narratives
Which some day, my American Myth really will be a myth
That nobody believes like Jesus
Or the Global flood?

President Bush, do you condone this behavior?
You say, "That's not real?"
Then why do they feed me with it?
A host of actors playing a role
And none of us know whether it's real or not.

Or, is it only me?
Am I the one being fed?
I try to write America's Magnum Opus,
The complete history,
But am unable.
I do not trust my sources
As your spies have entered into my home
And stole my books,
And committed plagiarism by publishing
False titles under Fall River's Press.

Or, is Edna St. Vincent the actual author of First Fig?
The Red Wheelbarrow used to be in my book,
Now it's replaced by "Queen Ann's Lace."
Did William Carlos Williams write this poem?
I don't know.
And for that, America, I write your elegy.
Your freedom is gone,
For this one man's freedom is gone.
The freedom to have truth,
And share a common story.
For, I know not the truth,
Only that I have been severely scorned.

America, goodbye.
You were a shining beacon on a hill.
Now you're no better than China.

Here is what I tell Atheists:

Good is a force which is inherent
And immutable and not conditioned to a man's personal beliefs.
Evil, as well, is inherent, and not conditioned to a man's personal beliefs.
Life is vain, and isn't where the focus should be.
I am a life, breathed into by God, 
And when that life is gone, I go.
I have choice, but God already knows the intimate details of my choices,
And has awarded me grace based on that omniscience.
I believe in God because of science.
I believe the Old Testament was God telling man to save himself,
And now that man failed, God has promised to save us;
This means we ignore the Old Testament's laws completely.
I believe love is an inherent spiritual force, along with joy and peace,
Which flows from divine Paraclete, and is the best evidence for God's existence.
I think life's meaning is to fully devote oneself to understanding Love, 
So, therefore, learn to love God and their Neighbor.

I cannot accept the atheist point of view.

What every atheist I'd ever talked to said:

"I understand good,
"Though I don't actually believe good exists.
"To me, good is just what benefits people.
"And evil is just what harms people.
"Life is meaningless,
"All I am, is a chemical reaction of firing neurons,
"Which produce all my decisions and beliefs
"And also the environmental conditioning which made me.
"I do not believe in God,
"Because science disproves God's existence.
"I believe the Bible is immoral because it condones Genocide and Slavery.
"I believe love is different for every person,
"And is just a euphoria created by our endocrine system.
"Life's meaning is whatever we make it."

Does this sum up your position, Atheists?

Judit beat Magnus. Way to Go!

What I hate most,
As I was praying to God the other night,
And I will share it with my readers,
Is how jadedness sucks joy from a soul.

Joy to me is a deep emotion,
As those who truly have it are rare,
And therefore precious.
But, it is the world's depth
That I understand so well,
And wish it hadn't of taught it to me.

When ingratiated with a thing---
As a matter of taste, the first hit
Of the melody, whatever that song is,
Will be your preferred sound;
Or the flavor combination,
Or the first face which awakens love,
Or the specific painter in a style.

Ingratiating oneself with art,
The critic doesn't realize the audience
Hasn't the same cultured taste.
Thus, taking what is generally good,
And can be new for one person,
He rips it apart.

I found myself about to partake in that snobbery today,
Listening to a techno song with all my favorite sounds---
Note they were my favorite sounds---
And my first reaction, within my gut, 
Was to laugh at it, or criticize it,
Not realizing had I listened to that song
As a young man, I would have been satisfied for hours.

A critic is alienated from the wonder of his inner child.
Let the wise never become one.