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.


Ode to the Apostate

Every once in a while I’ll dig through some old writings of mine to see if there is anything worth saving. Here is an poem written about 3-4 years ago now. This would be considered an ode, written in iambic pentameter, with a few slant rhymes here and there throughout it. It’s not completed, and has simply reminded me of that task – yet also the immense joy and love I find in writing prose.


Though throngs of grace have no respite, ’tis not
the conscious writer’s plight. For ink and pen
shall sing again amidst the folly’s plot;
’twas not the beat which formed his doubt, but men.

For seldom can a man escape what lies
within thick mire’s wake; his rest shall flee.
His breath no longer lingers whilst he cries;
his merry song has died, once Jubilee.

And so his soul lay down to sleep, perchance
to dream of days gone by. For in his death
he left no legacy; his last romance
was not of God, but vapors on one’s breath.

Though oceans roar like lions, and thunder
would strike as cornered savages, they shan’t
empower dead men’s souls torn asunder.
No, nothing, can repair dead men’s recant.

For what we do in life shall echo in
eternity. Ill deeds ensue us day
and night, and even when both fade wherein
our judgment day is come; a son’s dismay.

The Father gave His Son, yet sinners scoff
at such a gift. This beauty never speaks
to them; tis folly, doubt they shall not doff;
a faith which only serves blind eye’s critiques.

This truth forsaken for a lie gives life
no meaning, but to die. Yet still they laugh
and carry on, forgetting justice – rife
with envy, strife and pride; their epitaph.

Such acrid agony may bid them well,
lest joyous “Christians” hold their tongues. ‘Tis blood
upon our hands if we refrain to tell,
that Christ may bring them ransomed from the flood.

So many find the darkened road to hell,
and no excuse shall come to quench His wrath.
Yet those in Christ may share some blame as well;
for worn out pews leaves empty shoes and path.

How can one come to faith unless they hear
the Word? How can one know the truth of God
when workmen are ashamed? Can one learn fear
if doctrine slips away in your facade?

Do not be swayed by ev’ry man that speaks!
Their minds are as the waves which toss both to
and fro. They are but wolves among the peaks;
to twist the truth is all they seek to do.

‘Tis not religion, farce, nor scheme, so live
like you believe this truth! Do not be as
the hypocrites! Be open as a sieve;
do not scoff at the beauty which He has!

For if you do, you may become what you
once judged. Though grace ought reign, you’ll lead imposed
as those who’s shadows haven’t slightest clue;
they claim to walk in light, yet stand opposed.