Theodore Marmaduke, who was death’s        Puppet, caused a Prince to pause

At his false female form.      The Prince foresaw that Marmaduke was fit

And had good, graceful character     To create a sense of gaudy gluttony.

This Prince was an Egyptian Imam       Who had great Emeritus in his kingdom.

Theodore had sinned,      With murderous slander

When he captivated the Imam.      The Prince “consoled” Marmaduke

And so therefore took him into        The towering kingdoms of golden steeples.

For, Theodore Marmaduke was under      Assault by a Great King, unaware

That the Imam’s palaces would pour      Down their golden palisades into clear, streams

When the Great King      Killed his kingdom’s crews.

Theodore Marmaduke had tried     To kill the Great King’s friend, Bromdun

So the Great King embarked on an emissary     To draw Marmaduke out of the castle.

 

The Great King sent word,      “Give me Theodore Marmaduke, and I will spare thise.”

But the Imam did not, but rather sent shafts     Shot down, skewering the front ranks.

The Great King, knowing this meant war,      Took siege engines of brass and knocked

Upon the golden palisades of the Imam’s walls.     Great fires poured from the dropped

Gates of the siege towers, turning    The golden palisades to rainbow torrents

Of clear, streaming golden waters.     Men on the palisades waked through the mortar

Their flesh melting from the streams     Of liquid gold molten, flowing to the streets

Where men, as it cooled     Could be seen, arms mixed in like straw.

 

The war of the American revolution      Retained its great and hearty revolt

But now Bromdun had an ally     Unknown to him, for all was going well.

The Imam heard word that his walls were      Wallowing in their golden streamed wakes

That his men, in the cooled gold      Were but fleshstraw in hardened gold mortar.

The Great King took the Capital of the city,      Looked for Marmaduke that crass

Cutthroat killer, but could find     Him not. Yet, armies held on the hills

For a reserve force hidden in the hills     Ran in with great rain of cavalries’ hooves

For the Imam’s glory. Horsemen glade      Over the hill country, and into river gullies.

The Great King withdrew his halberds     So forced his general to haul into enemy spears

On a small number of horsemen.     Horrified, the Great King made a retreat

For the rustic palaces were taken,     The women in the kingdom ravaged

But the Great King had wasted his     Force at the gates, when the hooves harrowed

Great and numerous foes’ foray      By the feet of burnished cavalry.

The Great King lost general and crew       So withdrew in great retreat, languishing.

He held in the barracks, broken       As Theodore Marmaduke escaped boldly.

 

For, Bromdun was not Beowulf,     But was good nonetheless. Brazen

He thought himself a prophet,     But proved to be only a man persuaded

By his love for peace and prosperity.     Every word Bromdun spoke was for peace

To prevent war, yet the Great King provoked     Conflict at Egypt’s walls, wasted

Were the forces spent, stark naked were they     When they strode off into the sticks.

Theodore Marmaduke was giddy with glee      When the Great King’s forces gave way

To the Numidian Calvary in great numbers      Gnawing away at the Phalanx of America.

For, if they had not engaged the general     Against the Phalanxes of Numidian enclave

The general’s horses would not have waned     In battle to flight, so therefore jut him

Off his steed. His steed broken and bloody.       Bruised, the forces fled golden palisades.

There was an Emerald king,

Who deceived himself to claim,

“I am the seated God.”

 

Tyre’s prince besought one worthy for himself

To destroy. He searched roaming like a lion.

Word has reached a prophet of the LORD

That Tyrus speaks to consume that Emerald king.

To, to consume,—therefore, LORD

I beseech Thee, cause the little one to repent before

He becomes the so aforementioned King.

 

LORD, Tyre’s king seeks a consort

And Tyre’s Prince a concubine.

LORD, a righteous man speaks

With words, to a King of ashes and dung:—

Repent, O’ Barren of one of words.

For a desert land shall you be cast

If you do not repent.

It amazes me how history defied

Every good idea a thinker had.

 

Where there was a priceless gem

We cast it away for the slag.

Where there was a pearl

We kept the seashell.

Where there was meat

We kept the nutshell.

Where there was food

We took the box.

 

Perhaps philosophers

Like any other orator

Found a certain vanity

Popular among their audiences.

I imagine that is the curse of fame

And the curse of an audience.

What is us—

And therefore good—

Others will defy.

So all that’s left is what history

Will inevitably remember.

Jesus said, “Isn’t it said

“In your law, that you are gods?”

 

I hate this scripture.

But, I understand what Jesus meant.

 

Men apply it to esoteric doctrines

Likening men to partakers in God’s creation.

Though, the term just means

Someone who knows right from wrong.

 

Strangely enough, we can be like gods.

We can build worlds.

We can envision, build and create

And work like God does.

 

What it does not mean

Is that we are God.

We can build a fish tank.

We can populate it.

We can poison it.

We can feed it.

We are not, however,

Their God.

 

We did not create their matter.

We did not give them their life.

We do not hold them together.

 

The best way to understand this verse,

The way Jesus intended it,

Was that there was an ecosystem

Of impoverished souls

Which men had built and were called to govern.

They instead didn’t.

Their actions were directly responsible for others’ poverty.

 

Jesus, by comparison,

Knew His actions were directly responsible

For how His people would behave.

Just like our actions are

Directly responsible

For how those who are dependent on us will behave.

 

Because there is one man

Who sets himself to either give or take

From another, men are gods.

God Himself,

When He came in the flesh,

Set His example

That those whom He was responsible for

He must now take upon His shoulders

And carry.

 

The way we, in our limited capabilities

Are to shoulder our cross

And to carry the small portion of men we can.

A philosopher, I am not.

I am not really a skeptic of anything.

I do not make a good philosopher for that reason.

 

What philosophers toil about

I have neatly tied up in a little bow.

I think about other questions.

Questions that need answered

In my own mind

More desperately

Than whether we exist or not.

 

Fundamentally,

A little thought crosses my head

A little idea.

Writing is so strong a habit right now…

It just goes, rambles on into the night.

I guess it’s why I’m a writer.

 

While philosophers struggle with the moral

Question of whether morals exist…

I struggle with the question,

“How do people not know morals exist?”

While philosophers are certain about a triangle

My friend tells me they have five sides.

I laugh. No, a triangle has three sides.

But, I know he means the two faces

In addition to the three sides.

Because such things are unimportant to me

You see.

I see men struggling to understand whether the reality

They have in front of them actually exists.

It does.

To go any further, it seems like mental illness.

 

An even odder concern of mine

Is the little doubt I just had.

That doubt wasn’t present so long ago.

But, the God who is all things at once

And I the only subject…

I rebel against it.

Because there must be others like me

And sure enough, there are.

 

Snow is very beautiful.

And when I blaspheme,

I blaspheme an idol.

I blaspheme the idol

That says, “You’re the only one in existence.”

I blaspheme that.

I blaspheme the idol

That doesn’t want to lift a finger

And stop wrongdoing and suffering.

That Idol I blaspheme.

Why is there strife?

I do not know. But I know suffering must have an end

For a man like myself.

When it doesn’t, it ensconces me in the belief of God

Because I’m well acquainted with grief and heartache.

I blaspheme the god of America

Not the God of Christians.

I blaspheme the idol of the Muslims

Who says, “Bow down to this rock

“Follow our laws

“And in the next cycle

“Our religion will be true.”

Why? Because Jesus is a better God.

To destroy the wicked.

To uplift the righteous.

To give choice.

And one day, take that choice from us

Because it was too much of a burden to bear.

 

For, a good God doesn’t leave His creation

With free will for eternity.

Otherwise, what the False Prophet said to me is true.

That all men will, indeed, one day rebel and fall away from God.

This doesn’t comport with the promises in scripture.

Eternal life. That is life, without the ability to blaspheme.

That is life without the ability to sin.

To wipe away all tears and transgressions

Means that we no longer have the capability to sin.

Not that we become gods.

I blaspheme the God who would make His creation equal to Himself.

I want God, in three persons, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

One God, three entities.

I want we, His subjects

To have eternal rest

Like He promised.

 

Rightly, it is all I ask

Is that God follow through with His promises.

It is the God I worship

And that is Jesus

God’s Word made flesh.

God’s Word Come in the Flesh.

Jesus Christ is come in the flesh.

 

I blaspheme the god of the Atheists.

The one that says, “All men’s opinions

“Are equal, and no one can know.”

I blaspheme that god because it starved

Millions of my people.

 

The God I do not blaspheme

Is the One True God

Because He is real.

He is honorable.

He is filled with righteousness

Not to lay His burden on His creation.

Rather, that is the Sabbath,

To not take upon your shoulders the burden of God.

A famous author

Wanted to change a famous novel

Because of a controversy.

Sadly, she thought she was racist

For describing skin color.

 

Hurt, I said my piece.

What is my piece?

The stupid things we prescribe against.

To think racism is an inherent bias

In us, when it is not.

 

Being racist is a choice.

You ask any black man

He’ll tell you what racism is.

It is a choice.

It is not something implicit in us.

The Implicit Bias test is rigged.

It is a faulty test

Based on faulty psychology.

 

All that matters is that every day

You try to be the best person you can be.

You love your neighbor as you love yourself

No matter what they are.

 

Because when we give way on these small issues

Calling racist what is not racist

It creates hell on earth

For black and white.

 

Life was a game.

Going forward, like Mario

Mario, jumping, doing, playing.

I went down the tunnel

And fell through a snake’s metal stomach.

 

Then there was Beelzebub

With his spear.

He would place it on my chest

And push me into hell

For believing life were a game.

The driveway pleasantly

Scrapes with a sound like sawing bread.

Pleasant, as the flurries fall

The last of the snowstorm.

 

There is work, and

It is welcome.

When children, it distracted from our fun.

As adults it distracts from…

What exactly?

A show on the television?

Household drama?

 

One moves slowly, methodically

Removing every rock of snow,

Changing what was white to a pleasant

Reflective black,

Unlike in youth.

 

In youth, one wanted

Video games

Or toys…

To get done fast

So the real excitement could be had.

 

As an adult, the monotony

Gets broken up by

A driveway that needs shoveled.