The man who battens on spoil kneels gnawing at his throne,
Which once a seat of plenty, is now a chair of bone.
While the castle crumbles bare and broke,
His laborers lie in the ash and smoke.
All starving while the bread was there.
Languishing long in unending want, a man can find no hire,
Yet he now equals the rich man’s rank when both lurch forward and both expire.
He built first his kingdoms of brick and stone,
Planting trees and gardens hopefully sewn.
Yet when all these works had crumbled to dust,
Turning to iron and silver, found tarnish and rust —
All crumbling without the cornerstone.
Preferring to labor in bondage rather than give up his lust,
He gave to Caesar not only his due, but undivided trust.
So, objectors have been silenced, and war is but in play,
The rebel and the oppressor are together led away.
Passion leads to violence and conviction breeds dissent,
So, the lover and the leader die; the wicked and the innocent.
All in chains with freedom in their hands.
Wandering far and frantic, abandoning every law
Headless and hardly hearing the hidden Shepherd’s call.
At Ego’s altar can be found not a spark,
The Idols of Eros become dull and dark,
So, poet's pen and artful mind are shuttered in ever-night,
His blunders wrapped and shrouded, against any healing light.
All in blackness with dawn about to break.
So it is in the vale of tears, where lions prey at noontime, with vipers of teeth like spears.
But behold on the horizon: the moon subdued, and the rays of the Son appear.
“Wisdom is born in sorrow, but blossoms in everlasting joy.”