Wednesday, February 3, 2016

The Children of the Moon

I am speaking now to You.
Yes, You know who You are.
The Looker, the Watcher, the Spectator, the Voyeur.
Curious at these words, but only because they might entertain
While You scornfully point and laugh.
Or perhaps You think that they reveal a secret,
Because there is something in them familiar.

“It is only because they are stolen property!” You say.
“Poems and songs and paintings aplenty.
Writings changed to suit a purpose.
Do they reveal a secret, except that the writer is mad?
Or at least that his judgment is bad?”

Maybe not.
But if I a-muse You with my dancing in lunacy,
And You are still curious as to why,
Then I say, "You! In your darkness...look up to the moon!"
(You know, the lunar glow is reflected
From an even brighter Source.)

Send thine hand from above;
Rid me, and deliver me out of great waters, from the hand of strange children;
Whose mouth speaketh vanity, and their right hand is a right hand of falsehood.

I will sing a new song unto thee, O God:
Upon a psaltery and an instrument of thirteen strings will I sing praises unto thee.
It is he that giveth salvation unto kings: who delivereth his servant from the hurtful sword.

Rid me, and deliver me from the hand of strange children,
Whose mouth speaketh vanity,
And their right hand is a right hand of falsehood:

That our sons may be as plants grown up in their youth;
That our daughters may be as corner stones,
Polished after the similitude of a palace.

Happy is that people, that is in such a case:
Yea, happy is that people, whose God is the Lord.
Yea, happy is that people who have built their houses upon the Rock.

Strange, as the children's ways may be
I will raise my hand to follow Thee.
The words they utter, false and vain
Are now my words. I won't abstain.

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