Woes

"Woe to you who are rich, 

for you are receiving your comfort in full now."

We who count our abundance as blessing

and find ourselves fettered to our amusements.

How few, in the half-light of provision

can see past the gleam

of the next, the better, the best

into the hollow of our pride.

How few can fathom

the freedom in scarcity;

the feasting in one's daily bread.

"Woe to you who are well-fed now,

for you shall be hungry."

Woe indeed to the satisfied.

Woe to those whose bellies groan

with the burden of banqueting;

filled to the brim with sumptuous chaff.

Oh, that we would gather

with needful hands

the manna  whose humility sustains

in the desert wastes. 

"Woe to you who laugh now,

for you shall mourn and weep."

Woe to lives that banish sorrow;

we who insulate our walls from pain:

our eyes know no flowing tears;

our hearts no rending.

For no joy can speak from isolation.

Light has no meaning but for shadow.

Tear away our placard smiles

and baptize our souls in tears.

May we find our wisdom in sorrow;

our consolation in the breaking;

that joy would fall swiftly,

echoing from the wastes

and weeping.

"Woe to you when all men speak well of you."

Oh, the likeness of sinful man,

his countenance shining 

in the midst of shame,

exalted easily

though mercurially found.

Staring at the kingdoms of the world,

pledging his allegiance

for the price of fame.

Forbid,

that his feet should strike stone

when lifted

on the hands of family and friends and followers.

Forbid,

that justice is found

and frowned upon

lest his heart demand decision.

Forbid, 

that truth

should not meet with adulation;

that honesty

should mingle with pain.

Oh, the heart of the modern man.

"Jerusalem, Jerusalem, who kills the prophets and stones

those who are sent to her! How I often wanted to gather your 

children together, the way a hen gathers her chicks under

her wings, and you were unwilling."