Long God is dead Poems
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Who do you deem to be stronger?
Be it God or the Devil?
Simple!
Should you wish to know the answer
Why, just see to what extent do you wish the world to be ill
Yes, God did make us, the torchbearers of life
Yes, God did believe we would be His followers
Yet, see today, mass killings for His own sake
So much that I do even wonder if God is dead or awake
To have taken birth in this world
Is none but the result of a fall
Our own, a fall we suffer now, a fall from the great Heaven
Our past life, the one we cannot remember
Is the cause of all that we do get in this one
This one life, shall indeed be the one weighed for our next one
Shall we be graced as to be allowed an ascent back to the holy land
Or shall we remain here in this putrid land
Or shall we go down further beyond, to the hellish grounds
Why, pray, do mind my words, and do be good to all who do surround you
Who you do deem to be stronger
Is none other but the one you choose to follow
Human hearts are made of two parts
The first belongs to God
The other one belongs to the Devil
Of course, sometimes we do wish to do good
Yes!
At other times, we do wish to harm
Mind you! Think twice, thrice even
And if you need to back out from evil, please do so!
Lie not, kill not, harm not, bring not anyone down
As everything about you, about each one of you
Is being kept, recorded and stored
Someday, you shall be judged, like me, like all others
Then, you shall realize, who is the One Mightier; God or the Devil!
Nero the god! I had a dream.
There I was at the foot of Mount Olympus.
Mother was with me as usual.
As we reached a cross-roads, Agrippina said:
"Come Nero, here we turn left" But I said:
"No, mama, 'WE' do not. I'm gonna turn right!"
And that's what I did. She shouted after me:
"Become emperor, Nero, though you slay me".
The path led upwards toward the snowy heights,
past the lush vernal pastures of the lower slopes,
past vineyards and groves of olive trees,
through forests of oaks, birches,
willows, elms, yews and poplars and all holy trees,
past the crags where the chamois chewed stunted grass,
and the last brave wind-blasted pine
tossed and raged in defiance of the elements, I ascended,
till there was no other thing under heaven
but burning, blinding snow,
a conflagration no less fierce than that which now I see.
I looked down at the world of men,
and what should I see but -- ants!
The air was thin and pure - then the prize!
The summit appeared from behind a cloud-rift.
Treacherous thoughts welled up from within me:
"High climbers play with death –
death by freezing, death that lurks
in the shadow of a measureless abyss.
Was I not trespassing on holy ground? ‘
“Remember Icarus, remember Prometheus,"
sighed voices in the wind,
but then a louder voice from within me
bade me fear no counsel fit for the craven.
And so to the summit.
And what should I see when reached the Olympian heights,’
other than .....fierce Jupiter? Mighty Zeus?
I'll tell you what I saw!
There seated on an ivory throne, a frail old man,
whose long white beard fluttered in the wind.
His expression was more torpor than aught else.
That was it! He looked rather like...
some doddering old patriarch
that was Consul before Caesar's time.
As I approached, he tried to look grave and austere,
pathetically shaking his hoary senile head.
His trembling hand reached down –
I saw a quiver full of arrows
and a pile of thunderbolts at his side.’[
Now was my chance!
I seized him by the scruff of the neck,
and flung him down the mountain-side.
The last I saw of him was as he reeled
head over heels into a ravine.
Then I shouted in triumph to the four winds.
"THE OLD GOD IS DEAD.
Now I'm Top Dog. I got de thunderbolts".
Only a dream?
Perhaps. Dreams pass,
but not what they portend.
Good and Evil
The wicked reek of the devil;
“People are naturally good, not evil.”
In their world, God is dead
And Jesus’s death irrelevant.
Beyond the deception of oratory
That invokes susceptibility,
Historical evidence evokes rout.
Man is incorrigible without doubt.
The choice of souls for eternity
Stand between Calvary and uncertainty.
Reality will render precedence
Over conviction or innocence.
Life’s limits are predictable;
Death is inevitable.
The procrastinator shall envy
The forgiven sinner.
***
References:
Luke 18:19(NIV): “Why do you call me good?”
Jesus answered. “No one is good—except God alone…”
Romans 3:23(NIV): … “for all have sinned
and fall short of the glory of God,”
In Hades flows a Stygian river
of sorrows—a river of great despair!
It's a spiritual death that we all share
that napalms our lives and rots our liver.
Beware! Its undercurrent of dire doom
drowns us with heartless joy—it does not care,
and burdens us with more than we can bear.
We're like cadavers in a cold, stone tomb
from which can be felt and heard the death knell
where heaven is laid waste and God is dead,
as if we’re just a breath away from hell.
Here, where living souls dare not swim or tread,
we are like phantoms—like ghosts in a shell.
Yet, we fear not hell. But despair we dread!
What have been sayin’
It's only Saturday
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
Father in the kitchen
Eats his check away
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
Don’t you shake and shiver
When the hounds of order bey?
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
God is dead, or in Toms River –
Any dumb excuse to pray
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
Island people don't get ready
Wherever there's tsunami
They wait until that drawback gets all flushed
But back to your studies
Back to Bloom's Taxonomy
And the camouflage of sophomore girls’ first blush
It’s cartridge, pump and filter
It’s the dose in the ashtray
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
All the post-its in your Rilke
Will not my respect sway
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
Your hopeless, guileless, wretched pact of clay
The family-brand is over –
Say whatever you want but not “gay”
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
Thinking in cliches is itself a cliche
The God who did the cosmos spread,
is still alive, he is not dead.
Nietzsche declared that God is dead,
No wonder he soon lost his head.
The vastness of the universe
declares this God to me and you.
Only a God who’s infinite
can create what seems infinite.
The concept of infinity
reveals a godly quality.
So, though the world seems infinite
yet only God is infinite.
Infinite God, showed Infinite love
Sent down his Son, from heaven above
Bore mankind's sin, died for our race
Infinite God, showed Infinite grace.
Finite man, let thy heart ponder
Should not God's acts, inspire wonder?
Into God's grace, you are invited
Let not his love, go unrequited.
The stone that was rejected
now hovers overhead.
The sword of retribution
still dangles by a thread.
The careless laugh and squander,
the hungry starve away.
Men mock the storm and thunder,
deny the coming day.
They bomb, exploit and plunder –
of necessity they say.
And Rachel still is weeping
for the babes slain at her feet,
in Ramah ever keeping
her bloodstained swaddling sheet.
No longer do they crucify;
they poison, gas and maim.
No martyr do they glorify
or honour by a name.
But the greatest lie they proffer,
it is not that God is dead –
“He’s sleeping,” says the scoffer,
“on yon high and lofty bed.”
The innocent criminalized, chased down with pitchforks and torches of fire. Their names dragged through the mire, by the hair, stripped of their humanity.
Meanwhile the guilty cheer with cash and jewels, with measured feet on the demonic beat. The guilty drinking the blood of the kind, like wine.
Headlines say: “God is dead,” “No one’s watching,” “The law is what we say it is.”
Will we be sorrowful for such as these when the armies of God, with Christ at the lead, tread with grapes of wrath?
God’s fruit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, self-control.
Works of the flesh: sexual immorality, moral impurity, promiscuity, idolatry, sorcery, hatred’s, strife, jealousy, outbursts of anger, selfish ambitions, dissensions, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing, …the practice of such things.
Turn! Repent! The suffering will relent for the innocent. The bloodguilty will be paid with unquenchable suffering. Still there is time to turn and repent. See what a good God we have. He truly loves. None of us deserve anything from his hands and yet he offers everything. Why cling to a temporary offering when you can obtain glory?! We are tested and tried. Turn and repent!
*In italics from Galatians 5 of The Holy Bible CSB
Public Education is how Democrats farm voters.
From the cradle to their graves...
indoctrinated children become leftist slaves.
From the cradle to their graves...
indoctrinated children become leftist slaves.
From the cradle to their graves...
indoctrinated children become leftist slaves.
Fight the right
day and night.
No sleep for the wicked.
From the cradle to their graves...
indoctrinated children become leftist slaves.
No God,
no shame,
pride, pride, pride...
you have yourself to blame.
From the cradle to their graves...
indoctrinated children become leftist slaves.
All that is wrong is right.
All that is right is wrong.
Chant a song.
Chant a song.
Chant a song.
We will do this all day long!
From the cradle to their graves...
indoctrinated children become leftist slaves.
Scream louder!
Scream louder!
Scream louder!
Raise your voices with bullhorns and whistles!
Have you not heard, "volume is truth?
From the cradle to their graves...
indoctrinated children become leftist slaves.
Until the "sound of silence" is drowned out
and all reason is dead...
we can't stop because emotions dumbfounded our heads.
From the cradle to their graves...
indoctrinated children become leftist slaves.
It is "Love is love", "be kind" with "peace and harmony."
We will blah, blah, blah... make our demands known,
or at least burn an effigy.
From the cradle to their graves...
indoctrinated children become leftist slaves.
From the cradle to their graves...
indoctrinated children become leftist slaves.
From the cradle to their graves...
indoctrinated children become leftist slaves.
From the cradle to their graves...
indoctrinated children become leftist slaves.
If God is dead...
then why are so many people worshipping Satan?
i am lost
in the conflagration of spirit
where no philosophy abounds.
yet i love.
where are the people i crave?
am i a monster?
crafted and bolted
for purposes i can not accept?
there is yet much of God’s beauty left our great country
even in the midst of ever advancing devastation.
and there are so many who see this beauty at all costs.
but i have known so many who have felt the indifferent stare.
for them beauty is stale food
escape from the roaming gangs
a simple drip from the ceiling that stays within its catch-pan
and the eager smile of their precious infant who does not starve today.
God is dead, they say.
but the Invisible Hand thrives.
even in despair
It picks what It needs
toward Grand Assimilation,
to which i will never submit.
yes, i write today.
at least
one more day.
but i join in nothing.
yet i love.