There fared a time ‘we’ were the vital thing,
yet now the case is fair it’s ye and her.
My role perhaps was harrower of Winter
while she’s the water, seed and sun of Spring.
God forms right plans and sorts His unique tools
as junctures of our lives wed intertwined,
but when they’re o’er we are not undermined
nor forced to feel we’re slyly played as fools.
For Providence has granted precious gifts
which by His grace we learn and grow and flow’r,
and these need ne’er be lost in parting hour                                              
nor poisoned by the bitterness of rifts.
So rise our wings with richer, brighter hue
to soar upon Christ’s love which tarries true.

All the genocide, stains the star red
The psychotic, leading the ignorant and blind
Paradise ruined, by the stench of the dead

Not in the direction promised, they've led
Resistance, would put them in a bind
All the genocide, stains the star red

Towards misery and destruction they've sped
Delusions of grandeur in the arrogant mind
Paradise ruined, by the stench of the dead

Those who know better are filled with dread
As those who resist disappear in kind
All the genocide, stains the star red

The atrocities, never once what they said
As the insulated cheered them on and whined
Paradise ruined, by the stench of the dead

When the refugees see how the monsters have fled
Food and safety will be hard to find
All the genocide, stains the star red
Paradise ruined, by the stench of the dead.

That psychopath became a saint
A martyr for a bloodstained cause
He died by firing squad
When my hero drew the shortest of straws.

1) Be very broad-minded. Take the Broad Road.
(It is paved with good intentions and says Fool’s Gold, can’t miss it)

2) When you see the signs for salvation, declare loudly that you are tolerant and loving and that sin is an outmoded relic of patriarchal religion.

3) Follow the virtue-signals away from the true light towards your own sinful conceit.

4) Deny absolute truth when you get to Philosophy and take the exit toward Esthetics.

5) Stay on the path of least resistance. Celebrate ANYTHING except the God of Scripture.

6) When the road diverges, revile the nationalist R., along with tradition.
Hatefully label your fellow citizens as Racist Nazis until you merge onto Interfaith 666 at Hypocrisyville.

7) Turn repeatedly L. while flattering  yourself that you are progressive and enlightened.

8) Follow the exact same agenda and antichrist values as that of trans-national corporations while telling yourself you are a bold free-thinker “resisting fascism”.

9) Follow the bumper-stickers of the tenured professor in front of you for 59 miles.

10) Your destination is on the Left, but there’s still time to change the road you’re on
(if the Led Zeppelin song ends and you see the people leaving church as reactionary rubes, you have gone too far.)



Approx. time to arrive in Hell = 1 lifetime

Paupers may ask the Lord for wealth
(The Gospel might inflate their hopes)
Protection, blessings, mental health
Beyond what mullahs, rabbis, popes
Offer as guidance through the strife
Within this filthy maze of life.

Others hope He’ll stack their deck:
Bring in those thousand years of peace
One king short of Melchizedek
When nations merge and borders cease:
a prolonged global swoon, like Babel--
Partying with ******’s rabble.

Poets ask for Inspiration
Or just a spike in reader-stats;
Gold paid out in revelation
And sudden-death for bureaucrats—
Even the fleeting hope that wit
Might pay for some or all of it.

To sharpen dull poetic gifts
A mustard-seed might be enough,
Until the veil of Maya lifts
exposing the Satanic stuff.
I’d be content with what He brings:
The Restoration of All Things.

The flower of Hermes is a risible thing,
Furtive, uncircumcised in flesh and race;
But who the petals of that flower shall trace
Which a bright People in darkness can bring
Or smell, at will,—for freedom in sniffing
By just revenge inhaled? No nose can face,
No pig can wallow, to a miry space
That flower, you dig it, whether hung with bling
Like insect, pinned, or farting like the wind
Outside its awful caves.—From rear to ear
Springs this pestiferous product dull and drear;
No cure this subtle medicine can find,
Rising like water to a boil, unkind
To every bar a bitter pint of beer.