Too Rightly do the Righteous Trow

A poem in the perspective of the damned

Too rightly do the righteous trow,
bequeathing wisdom, splendor, lo!
And gentle winds shan’t cease to blow,
to usher winter’s wind in tow.

Too rightly do the righteous trow,
rescinding sunlight’s happy flow.
They testify of mankind’s throe;
pronouncing judgment, quid pro quo.

Too rightly do the righteous trow;
their light begets a somber show
and hastens forth – a laden bow,
forgotten truths now to bestow.

Too rightly do the righteous trow,
revealing but another woe!
Our cold, embittered hearts might stow,
if burning weren’t so apropos!

Too rightly do the righteous trow,
unveiling, stop! Now quickly, go!
One mustn’t spoil nor forego
enticement from so long ago.

So brightly do the righteous glow,
too bright for those who undergo;
they quell rebellion even though
relinquished sins once laid Him low.

Shall kingdoms cross without a foe?
Shall paradox dissuade Rousseau,
though false, contrived, pretentious, no?
Do not dissuade them, those below.

You can’t! You shan’t! You won’t! Although,
Perhaps we may persuade them so…
If faintly did our light thus glow,
one might contrive; devise to “know”.

As darkness binds all, to and fro,
devising, scheming, even so –
perchance desire will not slow.
perhaps in wrath, they’ll overflow.

Too rightly did the righteous trow!
Too fiercely do the wicked trow!
For we who love the darkness go;
unto our beds of death, we go.

So now we know; too well we know:
there is no rest for the wicked soul.
There is no rest for the wicked soul.

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