Poetry For His Majesty

A PSALM OF LIFE FOR YOU

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HOME > POETRY > PSALM 70

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Psalm 70

Tear down the devil's kingdoms. The battle has been won.

The king reigns in New Jerusalem. Alleluia let thy kingdom come!

Build up Jehovah’s kingdom. Leave no good work undone.

The king reigns in new Jerusalem, alleluia, let thy kingdom come!

He's gonna tear it down. We're gonna build it up!

He's tearin down down. Down. We're building up, up, up

We're building up. Up, up!

He's tearing down we're building up!

We're building up. Up, up. Up up! Let thy kingdom come!

***

Miss Eclcez E. Astees envisions my vagrant voyage is in vain.

But I could find pronounced wisdom in the trompe l'oeil of her name.

The winds continue blowing; north. South, east, and west

In constant movement, without a moments rest.

Round the earth they whirl: faithfully doing their part.

Yet in vain, for they end up right where they start!

Streams forever flow to the ocean... Spilling water like drool.

Yet, no matter how much pouring, seas never are full.

Then there are souls, whose sight seldom stretches wide,

Having the never-ending problem of never being satisfied.

What has been; will be again.

And what seems new, is no longer old... Till whim says when.

While not meaning to burst your bankrupt bubble or spoil your futile fun,

There is absolutely nothing-new under the sun!

Nothings new: just recycled "same", what comes in" really ain't, cause it already "came"!

Even acquiring wisdom is folly...mere madness!

For more knowledge...not much relief: such grief. Golly!...sheer sadness.

Advancing age makes pleasures too frisky.... Suicide beau coup risky!

Laughter is foolish. Fighting is duelish. Dreaming...a cruel wish.

Drunken fetes..........duh! Meaningless.

Life's roulette............a seeming guess.

Weather Jezebel infidel or mademoiselle nonpareil,

Fates knell befell both on death’s farewell carousel.

And they'll soon be forgotten in life's bucketless well!

Translation: weather saint or slut, death will kick your butt!

I really rather loathe, life and all the work I have done.

There's just more dust to dust with sun after sun.

I'll store up stuff, and then wrestle not to have a tizzy fit.

When in death, it goes to those who never worked for it!

All this vanity having been heard,

Please pause to ponder an imperishable word.

Judgment will come. "Just" as it should.

Santa Abba will deem whose evil or good.

So if you like happy endings: your shiny end beaming!

Surrender! It makes sanguine spiritual sense.

"Fear god and keep his commandments.

For this is the whole duty of man."

So, keep the faith, baby! In him...you can!

***

 

Ice sick-le memories try to melt her.

Firey pains spread helter skelter.

Was chronic aching just a shelter?


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