Tag: Jesus

Splitting

The Kingdom of Heaven wages
Its war against the Kingdom of
Shadows. A sore battle all must
Set out to glory's field. Rages
That war for all human ages
Where the soul must bastion its love
And forfeit all of worldlust.
It must purge all of its hatred.
In my poesy all of my good
Wages war with all of my bad.
And only by respite in Christ
Do we receive our daily food
To purge our soul of all its slag.
My poetry is this good fight.

Refuting a Demagogue

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.

Vision of Prosperity

One day, alighted upon my fortune
There came a weary traveler.
She had found a wellspring of tales
As seemingly old as time,
Yet discovered they were new.

"What have I found?"
She wondered, as tales abounded
Among the language of the Saxon.
What were these?
Rife with mystical creatures,
Yet such was the fortune found
That it suddenly appeared
To this modern writer's
Ancient poesy, 
That it was discovered
And thus enjoyed
For as long as time was kept.

An Ode on Faith

An Ode on Faith

What keeps a man, when Abraham is preached,
From imitating him,---in murdering
His son?---to, another's life, be the thief?
Much the same that allows one, whose reading
Of a poet, understand the clever
Metaphors, and gives one's knowledge a truth.
'tis what allows a man knowledge; whispers
In his ears the meaning of sweetest fruit.
There is the literal, which, willing kills,
Without concept lays actions bare and bald.
The literal reading atheists fill
Christian minds, searching deeply for a fault.
Yet, we somehow know what a passage means,
For that is why faith remains; 'tis unseen.
Should man without this ability be,
Such man, hell's stone be his foreboding vault.

Atlas

I stood, with the heavens on my shoulder.
If I could get a man to look up
The earth should be saved.
However, I had committed offenses
Against man, and as the preacher
Does, I held above me the pillars of the earth.
The mountainous daggers above me
The sinner's abyss below me.

I, I stood with the heavens upon my shoulder.
"Look up! Look up! There is a God,
"There are His angels, and His Cherubim
"And his Seraphim, and His Archangels,
"And Messengers, and His Nethanim,
"And Cherubs, and those sleeping in the grave.
"There is a world beyond our own.
"If you'd just look up,
"And unburden the heavens from my shoulder
"And hold them with me
"The earth might be saved."

The men stood, saying, "There are no heavens.
"There is only the earth.
"The stars are falling,
"But we do not perceive them.
"The heavens are shaking,
"But we do not want them to be.
"Terrible misfortune has come upon us all
"Yet we, we wish to live like we always had.
"Believing in great mysteries about ourselves.
"For we are too preoccupied with the things of this world
"To even look up, and see the stars have fallen.
"To even look out, and see the seas are raging
"Over their perpetual bounds."

I looked upon them.
"Men, men, countrymen,
"Do you not see that I alone bear the pillars of the Earth?
"Do you not see that I alone bear the heavens on my shoulder?
"You have taken the Gorgon's head
"And have petrified me.
"For I can but stand, and ache, and stiffen my nape
"Against an unwise generation as yourselves.
"You do not see the disasters among you,
"You deny the glorious reward on high?
"What, what do you seek?
"If I alone bear the heavens on my shoulder,
"And you do not look up,
"It will come crashing down on all flesh,
"And I will but be a grain of sand
"Weighed in the measure.
"It would all fail,
"And I will be dead, and you so with me."

They say then,
"The sky is falling, says the preacher.
"Has he not always said this
"From days of old?
"Has the sky fallen?
"No, I say it hasn't."

To wit, the preacher gave one last breath
One last desperate straight of his back
And bore those heavens strong.
Then, he collapsed under the weight of the heavens.
The men stood in awe,

"Has the Christian Preacher fallen under 
"The weight of his own prophecies?
"None of his ill foreboding came true."

There came a voice thunderous from heaven,
"Love has departed from the earth.
"Men, seeking to be like the beasts
"Have succumbed to their primordial pleasures.
"Thus, your own hell will be by your own hands
"That none, for a thousand generations,
"Shall know what love is,
"Or know what it is to have peace.
"None shall know what it is to have joy
"Or even know that there is a God.
"This preacher has come to be with good men
"And gracious women,
"Who have all suffered,
"But none so bad as the tyranny
"Man had created when he said to God,
"'Depart, I never knew you.'
"Man wishes for God to depart,
"God shall depart, and all the good things
"With Him, while this preacher sleeps,
"And shares in conjugal vows with his Creator."

The Duke’s Dirge

Shorn the sheep to graze in fields, peridot,
The jeweled sun’s breath upon the burnished cheek;
Kin we were in kith we ran the ramparts
Of our boyish troop, upon the dragon’s gorge.

It reared upon us one silent hour
O’ that brother of the Jeweled Seraphim,
Son of Satan and Scylla, most unwise.

He is a man like any other, plush
With his mischief upon the earth, rosy
Are his cheeks; richer he is than the king.

The Seraphim will bind his sire in
Juddecca’s chains, cast him down to hell. Yet.
That foe Death, only one will vanquish:—Christ.

The winds of the eastern vault bring pleasant
Breeze, to where we once in boyhood’s gay charms
Played with sticks, and serious was our charge
To guard the gates of those ruddy warriors.

The armies salvos over the hills, arms
March out to war, in our memory’s past;
Those games we played as youth, with prop instead
Of cold metal in the scabbard’s tang.

Never was Satan’s sire, that Scylla’s
Bastard, a thought upon our mind, when war
Burgeoned in the hill valleys of our play.
Yet, the silent winds cooled our childhood’s

Games. And the sweet smell of the heather blooms
Rose through the air with the mowed grass; sticks crossed
Their tackles, but not the iron of war.

Brother, I pray you find rest in the green
Lights of Paradise’s grove; so rest sound.

For our swords would cross in amateur play
Yet, now the Bastard has crept through your door.

Raise; raise you Duke
At the last Trumpet’s sound
Into paradise.