The Republic

utopia

‘Twas Plato erst planned out the perfect state
(Slave-based, of course.) Where citizens perfect
Ordered their city chained to benign fate
While guardians oversaw that no neglect
Occurred. Where warriors’ force the state uphold
And reason reigned supreme. Or so we’re told.

The perfect citizen: every state’s dream!
Where states are gods whom every man must serve:
Not question. For their good, all are a team:
One mind, belief, opinion. Brain and nerve
Serve the state only and for it exist.
This belief down to our own day does persist.

The state is god. To rebel: evil crime.
So Plato thought: for if the state is good
Divergences are evil, and in time
Suborn all else. All thought-crime therefore should
Be caught, corrected, isolated. Cure
Or kill. By such means the state remains pure.

An agony of drear conformity!
A band of trumpets braying on one note:
Unvaryingly banal. The same reality
Replaying over. Boredom learned by rote.
Hell is the same existence eternally
Where heaven is keyed to individuality.

Rubaiyat – Death & Life Duo

Rubiayat

From dust to dust. From clay to clay we live.
While living: may our souls find ought to give
To God and one another. Lest we find
Our time has gone: like water through the sieve.

So when I die: plant over me the rose
Whose scented blossoms delight my repose.
And let my mortal clay nourish the ground
While scented thorns my flesh to blooms transpose.

What though Death’s angel greet you in the morn
And ask you kindly sip the mead-filled horn
To pass from earth into eternal paths
Destined for us before we each were born?

Go Save the World

Save the World

The socialism of today does cry
“Do something! Yea – do something”. Oh – must I?
“You must give something back!” they now demand.
Since when did such self-righteous snobs command?
I must admit it came as a surprise
The world wished good for me – or cared likewise.

The Church is just as aimless as the rest
Good works without the Gospel – who is blessed?
Good works are surely comforting and well
To help the body – while souls go to hell.

“Faith without works is dead.” the Scriptures say.
Do works without faith help aught anyway?
I think not. What to do? Who to obey?

“Do Something.” Anything? What shall I do?
Just pointless busy-work? That can’t be true.
To bear fruit, Jesus, I must follow You.

Unloved

Frozen Heart

Two lovers sat.
Perhaps ex-lovers really.
Their memories of love and joy and happiness all frozen
Turned to solid ice
While they go through love’s motions.

Their love was real. Once.
Passionate and soul-enthralling.
Not now.
A frost has come – first one heart froze. And then the other cooled also.

What now?
What can he do to win her love again?
For love once lost is harder to reclaim.
Does she want her heart reclaimed? By him?

One lover sat alone.
The other’s gone to work. She may come back.
Or not.

Dead Babes

child in heaven

My poor dead babes – are you in heaven now
Disporting among angels in the light
Of Christ? So happy perfectly enow,
Older than me in all of heaven’s delight?
And when I enter heaven, on that day
Will you – with others – take me by the hand
To lead me through celestial fields of May
And teach me what I long to understand:
Why were you taken so? To spare the pain
And hurt of living in this broken world?
God’s will be done. If He deigns to explain
His wisdom, His eternal plans unfurled
To me, how all our joys are due His Grace –
I worship. Understanding what took place
Far better, when I see Him face to face.

Birthday Reflection 2017

Lantern Burning

I wondered lately about growing old –
If it were like light fading, growing dark.
Maturity is nothing like we’re told:
Addition of more years. Our feeble spark
Of naive trust was lost along the way
As calculating cynicism taught
Us of realpolitick, and from the fray
Protected us, as best our judgement aught.
But yet: once innocence was like bright shields
And play as natural as the days were long.
Yet innocence to wisdom at length yields.
The world is darker now. Have things gone wrong?
Do I more truly see, do I perceive
The world more as it is? More truly bad?
Old Adam’s curse at work? Well, I believe,
That length of days can only make one glad
Who knows that sooner they will leave this place
To solace with my Father face to face.