52 – A Tale of Babel (V)

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Rest done. Where to start?
By God, this is a hard meat to chew.
Who can be proud of that they were born with?
Is one with eyes proud that they can see?
Is one with ears proud that they can hear?
But a blind man who works his sight
And a deaf man who works his ears
They’ll say, ‘I hear, I see, out of my own will!’
The humble are those gifted by their birth.
The proud are those who work,
When one’s kings, and judges are self-made,
What then? Why pray?
Should you expect a humble leadership
From one who has worked for it?
Sure, they’ll honor God with their lips,
But their hearts shall say, ‘I deserve this,’
Because they were not born of it
But worked to be better than those—
Those begotten, ridiculous Abels
Who began their lives favored by God and men!
But the city I built, I built it.
The brass I forged, I forged it.
I didn’t know, but I learned it.
But look over there, Abel has his gifts!
He has nothing to be proud of,
Because he’s been given all!

As I look upon these notes,
This is more a raving about me
Than it is a general truth.
Of course those born with gifts can be proud.
There’s no greater fool than one who takes pride
In that which he has received at the start of life.
I only state there’s a difference in the fable,
The moral, between born rich and made rich.
The one born shall learn he has nothing to be proud of.
The one made shall learn he can be proud.
He shouldn’t be proud, but he can be,
Because unlike the old rich, the new worked for it.
To be self-made is poison for the soul.
God doesn’t approve of pride in any form,
And there’s no one more proud than the self-made man.

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52 – A Tale of Babel (IV)

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I guess I could describe what she wore.
A long black dress past the ankles,
A white shirt with collar and buttons,
A pair of white socks,
Docked in a pair of boaters (shoes).
She dressed like a thin Queen Victoria
Without the furls and fetters,
Or a pilgrim without her hat and frock.

… I think my head’s starting to hurt.
Excuse me, why did I start here?
We should skip ahead.
Also, a story like this
Isn’t for the world to hear.

I’ll come back to this,
But I require rest.
No, I won’t rest.
I’ll just say that it’s not
My place to describe what’s most private
Between a young man and maid
Who one week ago were wed and married.
My wife would have me hanged,
But for the sake of my biography
Let us turn back the clock
And talk of something else.

There are still notes about Babel
That I would like to make,
Especially of a hard meat to chew.

Who can be proud of that they were born with?
Is one with eyes proud that they can see?
Is one with ears proud that they can hear?
It may be that the humble are they born with gifts,
While the prideful are those self-made.

I will speak more on this, after I have my rest.

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52 – A Tale of Babel (III)

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I was a sick man.
I was a spiteful man.
I was an unattractive man.
Maybe I still am.
But even If I’m attractive now;
Once ugly, always ugly.
Who can look at a woman’s smile,
Knowing they’d never give a smile
If they saw the worst out of your soul?
At that point, love’s better bought,
For my good looks are the equal
To two hundred dollars of makeup.

Now I’m straying.
Truth is, though I live in Babel-cloaked Israel,
I still wanted to marry a beautiful woman.
One may laugh if they hear what I think is beautiful
So I won’t say what I find beautiful.
I will say, however, that one should laugh
Because one would probably think she doesn’t exist.

Sometimes my heart screams:

There’s not one now
Who needs a righteous man.
We now live in a sinner’s world,
Evolve and adapt.
Money now’s in selling sin,
Service unto the flesh.
If you don’t adapt
You’ll surely die.
Because there’s no place for
Righteous men of God.
Israel for sin has made her own laws.

But adapt and evolve,
You can be for God in only name.
You can be righteous your mind.
Dress yourself for the world,
But be for God in your mind.
Just don’t walk too far out of line.
And words mean nothing now
All that’s left is right.
The garb of a prostitute’s a chaste dress,
And a chaste dress, a sign of pride
Which says ‘Look at me guys!’
When they can dress like the rest of us,
Why can’t they learn?
Modesty’s not in dress, but in the heart
So wear what you want!

Adapt and evolve,
God prefers your love in your mind.
Why work to righteousness,
Don’t you know that’s pride?
More than one, the mass is wise,
What the mass demands,
Is always what God thinks is right.

Such is how the heart screams,
Because when a wife
Enters Solomon’s chambers clothed,
She’s the weird one out of the five.
But enough of vanities, enough vexations.
For my sanity, there’s a story to be told.
One mad man in sane Babel’s my cross,
But even I have reasons for hope
In spite of my bad start.

Now, I will tell you,
I won’t clarify the date,
Just know this happened once upon a time,
When my parents gave me the keys,
And I finally found a measure of peace.
Every room was cleaned out
And I was finally the Lord of my own house.
But though there was peace,
On that first day of living,
While laying on my couch,
I started to do a dangerous thing.
I idled, I started to think.

Brother’s in debt, sister too—
And they don’t have a house.
They’re living here with me,
But I received by God,
By Mary’s Most Holy Rosary.
Look at you, Dumas, an Author.
What’s more, a romance author.
Who knew writing self-insert fiction
Could have proved so profitable?
Every story, every tale, with the theme:
Crippled beginnings. Happy Endings.
Goodness knows that’s our Church
Under the Novus Ordo, but—
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!

Thankfully, someone knocked
(Yes, the knocks I thought),
And my monologue stopped.
Kicking my legs I got up,
Walked across the whitewood floor
To the foyer of my house,
And opened the door to a young woman,
Straight in her step, with smiling eyes
Colored like storm-grey skies—
… Know what?
I’m not going to describe my wife
For another guy.

Are you surprised?
Looking over these terrible notes,
I said I wanted to marry a beautiful woman.
Past-tense. I already did. Surprise.
Of course, it’s impossible for God
To write love stories without complications,
Which is why I’m writing this one for my sanity.
Where the complications arose.
Well, I was a grave sinner,
Who never deserved a woman like her.
There were relationships beauty and beast,
But ours were like fly and butterfly.
Still, she loved me, and I her.

That door, when she knocked on my door,
It was the day of her moving in.

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52 – A Tale of Babel (II)

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Here, in falling Israel,
Because she wears sin’s cloak,
I can only watch as she
Adorns herself for flaming coals.
‘Forward on the path!’ She says
‘Where Forward? Heaven or Hell?’ few ask.
‘Doesn’t matter! Forward, we know the way!’
This is how she answers,
And the people love her answers,
Because she serves their libertine pleasures.

Me, I can only weep for I am weak.
Only one knows right and wrong,
And man, no matter how many men,
Cannot know this on their own.

A majority of souls fall into Hell,
Yet it’s the rule of Israel now
That the majority of people rules.
A majority honor Him with their lips.
They read what He has spoken,
But by Pride forget what’s written:

The people gathered themselves unto Aaron.
…
The multitude delivered him.

It’s like they ignore Adam and Eve agreed.
The acts of two over one threw all man out of Eden!
How much better shall millions decide right
Over two with perfect reason!
Not that they believe in these two anymore.
They’ll find any excuse for sin and pleasure,
Or if Scriptures clear, redact the Scriptures
So the LORD approves their lusts.

Oh God, who can use Scriptures to argue Scripture?
The devil makes use of Scripture,
Can a mere man argue Scripture better than the devil,
Who has more faith than any man,
Who will see Thee from beginning and end?
With your Word, man shall say such,
And then the devil shall say such.
Without God, who can say from Scripture,
‘THOU SHALT NOT TEMPT!’
For until one has thy Life, thy Flesh, thy Blood
Coursing through their veins, Love from above,
The devil shall reply, ‘But is it not written…?’
To every Scripture you hand him.
Too many of Israel’s children do not understand,
Because man seeks after their own inventions,
His law can’t be judged without He who wrote them.

Great, my heart’s screaming right now.
If only my mouth may scream,
But such is the case in Israel.
Her people have mouths but cannot scream.
We may only pray, work, and dream
Of the day when God shall save the godly
From the number of the godless
Who deliver us to judges.

Oh what grave temptation it is,
To align oneself with the people!
By the people, for the people,
But the people are all evil!
What righteous man, should ever want to please,
No less be chosen to lead
By an evil people,
Whose hearts are strung by the devil’s strings,
Whose minds are fixed to Pride!
Gone is the month of the Sacred Heart!
The people raised the month of Pride!
And their unrepentant hands have touched the Blood,
Of the God who died as and for filthy men like them!

They who readeth Scripture alone,
Oh how those alone shall celebrate,
When the babes of Babylon
Are smashed against the stones!
Of life and death, your daughters thought to choose!
How grateful will her enemies be
When the lives her daughters chose
Meet the stones against their choice!
For deciding life and death, the sentence:
God’s will over thine!

Hear, hear, a man who reads Scripture alone
Is a man who reads by the Devil’s hand!
These are the results of Scripture alone:
Sixty million in Moloch’s crib!
A thousand wayward flocks,
And Multitudes who ask,
‘Is Jesus really God?’
Heresies risen again,
Arians, Nestorians,
Gnostics, and Carthusians wait in Hell,
For every day in Israel,
The people wear the cloak of Babel.
Is this how Lot felt,
Waiting out in Sodom?
Then there’s another fruit;
Freedom of Religion.
Yea, how free was Israel in Religion
When they raised the calf to Moloch!
Israel be warned! Fruit of Scripture alone,
Ye caused Israel to act as Pagans!
Liars who serve the Father of Lies,
If thou intended to make a Christian realm,
Then thou should have done as Moses
And consecrated the land and people to God!
But no, by Scripture, thou hast wrote a law,
Freedom of Religion to raise thy babes to Baal!
The people may be Christians!
The people may be for Satan!
And no one shall have a say about it because…
The people make no law respecting an establishment of religion.
By the people’s constitutions.
This is the fruit of Scripture alone.
The people would rather do anything
But having Christ as king.
Such is the nation
Of the people, by the people, for the people.
Every man, woman, and child
Has a bribe and a vote on Scripture;
What to keep of God, what to throw out.
Oh, I my heart can only scream,
For whatever I must do in Babel.

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52 – A Tale of Babel (I)

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Once I lived all alone,
Chewing fish cans
In the video room,
A closet of wires and junk,
And cameras never used.

Such was my life then,
Drifting through the school,
Distracted with getting red As,
But my heart had always screamed.

What’s the point
Of working for a world which won’t exist.
Don’t you know you’ll graduate
And find yourself replaced?

Then I’d say, ‘Quiet heart!
Let’s get to work.
We’ll use nothing we learn here,
But work so we’ll be spared
From the wrath of father and mom,
Whose hands land like burning coals,
Whose words cut to you heart.
So work heart for their applause
Cause you know there’s no God.
No one will save you from
Your hapless, hopeless days.
So work, heart work and save yourself.’

Back then in those former days,
I knew not my Lord,
But though I know Him now
My heart still screams for my role
Living in Babel

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51 – Separate Amidst a Separate People

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Lord, forgive me if I wail.
Each day, I find a new way that I fail.
I am separate amidst a separate people,
But I don’t know if it’s because I’m good or evil.
Turn back the clock sixty years back
Externals, Israel dressed with respect.
Internals, Israel knew right from left.
Now, Israel thinks right can be left and left right.

I think I might hate my brothers,
They’re stiff-necked and in error.
They say ‘I love…’ with their lips
But they don’t die, they kiss.
‘I love…’ I pray to only say,
For one whom I should die,
But I’m separate from the separate.
I will not weep if they should die.

They only cause me grief,
Because they don’t know left from right.
A left’s a right and right’s a left,
But when I correct they call me mad!
The Scriptures they redact!
Hypocrites, they claim they have the Word!
But they don’t have God, they have His book,
And they use riches as their proof!

But more woe, to those who do have God,
Who have Him stored within as flesh and blood,
Who make room for their lusts and pleasure,
As if His Laws are like passing feathers!
What’s carved on His Ark’s forever.
It can’t be wiped off for Sodom!
He has written what He has written.
The Word cares more for souls than feelings!

I know I am called to love,
To die for my brethren,
But God I don’t know if I can die for a people,
Whose ways are turned to evil.
Perhaps I’m the one that’s evil.
Perhaps that’s why I feel alone.
If that’s the case then it’s what I deserve.
I can only pray for a lamb to call my own.

Yea, a lamb of my own,
Who with me may be alone.
Pray Thee, I know Thee more,
By acting as a Lord.
Maybe I’ll learn to love as Thee,
If I learn how to die for her.
Of course, if she’s anything like Peter,
It’ll be right for her to scram and weep.

The Lord dies first, then the Church.
It’s the proper way of things.
As Thou hast died, we shall die,
And so pray we enter into life.
Maybe it’s good they make me grieved.
It’s proof that I do care.
Why do I care for they who don’t care for me?
Yea, it’s because Thou art in me.

Thou wert a Nazarene.
You felt loneliness.
Separate from Your peers.
Separate from Your brethren.

God, did You the feel loneliness,
Growing up an only son?
God, did You feel loneliness,
Of being followed only for what you’ve done?
God, did You feel loneliness,
When You were abandoned to your cross?

God, you know everything.
You know loneliness, and you know love.
You knew it all in Earth and Heaven at your cross.
Lonely by Peter, loved by Mary, Magdeline, and John.
Yea, suppose even if I don’t feel like it,
I may learn to love as Thee.
If to love is how we’re called,
Then pray I die for those who spurn Thy Law.


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50 – Feeding My Lord’s Sheep

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My head feels dizzy
And the heat of the air’s washed over me.
I’m with the dogs sat on my chair,
Wishing to sleep like a bear.
But oh my Lord, he won’t like a friend,
Who can’t keep wake to watch all his things.
Oh my, I try to tend to his sheep,
But God, they do not eat!

I go fill their bowls,
They sniff and look at me.
Then they paw my legs, they say,
‘Aren’t you gonna feed me?’
My soul can only scream,
Because it seems they’d rather starve than eat.
If they’d rather die than eat what they need,
Then what’s it to me or thee?


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49 – A Family Prayer for Fear of Hell

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Our Father who art in heaven,
Pray we rise to thee
With a company of trembling souls,
A family of saints.
Wash away the taint of sin,
And pass us through the gates.

I know I can’t pay off the debts
Of those with me around.
But pray with them I do pass on,
You guide us to your arms
Cause too many family lines
Drown forever in the dark.

Therefore, therefore, we pray oh Lord,
Keep us on your ark,
And if there can be no us
But rather only I, in eternal life.
Then pray, oh pray, it’s your advice,
We weep only for ourselves.
Amen.


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48 – When Salvation’s Not Sure

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To live like salvation’s assured by living like salvation’s not, for which all the faithful are justified by their works; by which works should be that of angels rather than those who burn in Hell.

When salvation’s not sure
Pray it be cause
To race to Comforter.
Even if one’s to ten thousand saved,
Pray I never quit.

If my own sons fall,
Pray I don’t fall with them unto Hell.
Better alone in Heaven with God,
Than with a party in the pit.
It’s for this, I pray to love my Lord,
More than any other soul.
If love for those that I know
Would tie hot topes around my soul
Then pray this love dies
So my soul will never burn.
Because there’s no greater loss
Than the loss of my Lord.
So when asked to save the world,
Pray I come around to answer,

‘Better for world to be damned
If damning world saves my soul!’


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47.5 – Two Better Days

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Just an extra, since I’m not too sure if a verse like this has much to do with God.

Can’t say there were two better days
Than when she entered and left my life.
By spring we danced, by winter she died.
A part of me was pleased.
Her yapping caused me strife.

When a young woman’s first married,
She’s a pretty yeller sure,
But age makes an old yeller,
And age removes the smoke of pleasure.
Closer to death, the soul has less to hide.

Still, it was strange. I cried. Don’t know why,
Since I’ve thought about it for a long time.
Car crash, assassins, the flu perhaps,
Ever since I saw that first grey hair on her head.

Suppose I wasn’t as pleased as I thought.
Such a poor flaw of mine.
In life I see only bad times.
Only when they die do I see the good.


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