He is LORD by Oscar W. – W5

Oct 14, 2015


Wherefore in center of the storm, while all ‘round

Oak trees bent and tore from ancient roots;

Where wind is whipped into a frothy thing,

As unalike to air as stone to skin and blood to milk;

Where Men and Women are as mice and rats,

Who scurry from the light or in the black of night

Bear down into cradles; those wretches, huddled in

The writhing mass, tear flesh from flesh in hunger’s yoke;

Where two by two, the beasts of earth rise sullen;

Peat and sulfur fall from ossified skin, and make

The earth akin to the home they hope to return;

Sits an island of cool shade and trickling streams;

And on that island again there is a pool, but not of

The waters which now the woman sits upon; nor the

Baptismal pools, left in their holy place and unfettered by sin.

No, the water flows like once hard glass, now freed

From caste to joyously jump ‘round His blessed feet.

Oh! those feet, whole poems could be writ about

their bounce and serene grace; and about His

countenance, the way His arms fall to his side, the way

His eyes look deep into the hearts of beasts

And ferment there a spark of the divine. In every

gesture of His hand He brings before Him the

whole world; and like through a drop of water seen,

makes it as a single word, an echoed chime upon the pane.

No sooner can one’s heart calm its frantic race;

No sooner can those lucky few find solace in

The waving grass, those reaching arms up from

The ground, a living font of His bright gaze:

When in the distance, a figure comes; as if to

Mock His gentle gait, it moves with jerking steps;

As if to remind those watching of the storm

Outside, it speaks with curses in a desert rasp.

“What brings a nomad as yourself to such as still

And silent a place; surely you do not wish to be a

Warrior in a holy war, or servant of the lamb of God.”

The figure is now feet from the pool; and each

Sigh, and every ragged breath, tells well the story

Of its life: of miles walked through the holocaust

Of dust and empty riverbeds; of crumpled children

On the ground, walked past without a pause; of

Bodies buried and knives held to throats; of great

Burn scars hid by worn old coats; of silence.

The traveller rose then, and casting off his rags

He spoke: “Oh lord in the garden, I have come to learn;

I have come to learn from the one who has seen

The earth as it is from heaven; the one who

Has made life from the dead and has spoken

The Words as they are written in heaven.

I have questions for the one who is called

Man and also LORD; I seek answers, and I will

Not be discouraged” and now the figure pulled

Back his hood to show a face scared seven times.

“LORD, have you forgotten that you are also the

Son of MAN? Do you no longer weep at the suffering

Of mankind? Do you not care for the murder of

Babes and the transformation of men to carrion?

Oh lord! would you not die again?

Have you already done your penance?

Are the sins of Men too great for even your

Death to abate them? Or are we no longer

Yours to die for?” Great tears now poured

Into the pool; and where they struck

The water turned, as well, to blood. “Oh lord:

Wherefore does an oasis sit while all ‘round

Beasts walk to and fro; while men are beasts

And beasts are but their teeth and claws; while

Water is as sour wine which poisons every

Brook and stream; wherefore does Christ sit in

Tranquility while death rasps drowned by

Horrid gale are lost ‘ere they can reach His ear?”

Now of those few lucky souls who listen in the

Garden’s sphere, one third were struck at by these

Words; and finding in their hearts unease, stepped

From Christ into the waiting storm outside. And

In His heart, too; where only truth can find a hold,

A creeping fear was rooting in. So now the garden

Was no more; where it once was, the desert had

Been for seven years. The poisoned waters of the

World now ran through the once sacred

Pool; and through the pool of Him as well;

A third of three was wormwood too.

Now I am in poor favor; to capture with my words

The speech of God and gods, with pain. A pain

Which pronounces the Word. Said this, in tongue

Which made the world: “Oh Father, LORD,

El, Yahweh, He who has a thousand names

In a hundred tongues; and yet it is me who

You decided to let speak the true tongue

Of your children; blood; you have never felt the blood

Which you let spill; you have given me the gift to

Speak as Man but only as a translator.

Only to fulfill your law; a law written in the Word;

To seal its truth with godly blood; to remake it

In human terms. and now again; the seven

Holy seals were not enough to bring your will

To earth; it needed blood, but not my blood;

No, now I stand as LORD only; the blood which

Flows is from your other children’s wrist.

Now I see, Now I see; the Word always demands the

Blood; and you, oh maker of the Word; always

Will let it bleed. Why? Why am I your instrument in

This? Why must I play at good and evil; making show

With your second favorite son to distract the

World while you drain it for every drop? Why?

Why speak the word at first? Did you imagine

In the void a crucifixion; when you spoke and

Lobbied and made yourself known; was it done

Just so your children would make war in your name?

Are sin and sorrow; the whole human comedy;

Is it a game to satisfy your need for blood?

Did your lust run so deep that you made closer

Yourself to it by having me, the Lord, do the bleeding?”

This and more was woven in the fabric of the air;

Was spoken, as a rebel cry; sweet seduction of the

Earth, like Jocasta from the father to the son.

So now a third beast walks upon the turf, with

Blasphemer writ upon his brow; and you shall

Know him and you shall fear him; and the whore

Who sits upon him is the great ocean; he is

The Beast of the Cross, most hated in the eyes of

God; who finds no blood under his tread.

Those who follow him will find no entry into the kingdom of heaven.

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