Epic limerick: Is not my word as a fire
by Derek Geiger
Ere the solstice time’s portent
Of this season’s dread intent
And the burden on the men
To keep the wood all piled-in
And women minding the vent,
Children once gazed in wonder
At the fire crackling under
The not oft-used stone fireplace,
But now it holds no rare grace.
Long, there’s been icy thunder.
And the cattle all are dead,
Sanctified, roasted, and fed
To the starving politic
Of Ashernon-Bolshevic.
Now the old go in their stead.
In these days of broken-down
Society, the weak would drown
Until their Souls yearned no more
To be anything but poor
Pawns in service to the Crown.
With might made of wealth and wiles,
Wield steel hearts behind their smiles,
The charlatans (fancied mystics),
And study the ballistics
Of different hustling styles.
The viziers of the Virgin
In robes just now emerge in
And hold the weak at ransom
For the love of their King, handsome,
“Oh, how the evils surge in!”
But the doctrine long believed
Is doomed. “We’ve all been deceived!”
Cries the chorus from the eaves.
But spoken Truth soon relieves
Them,and they’re no longer grieved.
The retrenched ones, as they will,
Say, “Turn your eyes to the Hill!
Upon the elevated ground
These commands were given sound,
And they judge you even still!”
But scholars, supplicants, and
Sceptics reject the harsh hand
Of the sacrificial Lamb.
“Words not of the Great I Am
Have too long ruled our fair land!”
Ashernon-Bolshevicians,
Historical magicians,
Off forget their storied past,
Not the triumphs or the last
Acts of kind meretricians.
‘Tis the evil that they’ve done
That never again sees the Sun.
Workings of short-sighted men
Fail recognition as sin,
And the whole world comes undone.
In the beginning, there were
Peoples living, wrapped in fur
Who were not covetous ere
The arrival of the fair
Men who came there to conquer.
By lies and great strength of arms
The immigrants built their farms
Out of the wild that had been
Untouched as their loved Virgin,
And the land fell ‘neath their charms.
They came for GOD and for lust
Of gold, but ne’er, ne’er for trust.
Trust? The did entrust only
In their righteousness, lonely
Scraps of Faith, only the crust.
Once the harpoon had stuck in
More migrants came flooding in.
Most were fair, as those before,
Freely come through Golden Door,
But the Painted were dragged in.
Then one day, a Man awoke,
Remembering all He spoke.
It was not just as they said,
Not the same as lines He’d read.
“Turn your books to naught but smoke!”
“What I said is what I’ll say.
I cannot go another day
With my Loved Children burning.
It’s time for Pure Unlearning,
For I Am now here to stay.”
“I see your hate. You’re misled.
The Word, living in My head,
Says to Love with all your strength.
I would go to any length.
To light the Flame, raise the dead.”
“All Your Souls were once My own,
But now You fear the unknown.
You’ve lost Your Divinity,
But You’re all the same to Me.
So I will speak till You’ve flown.”
“Love True now or not at all.
Catch Your Sister, should She fall.
Straighten Brothers, should They bend.
Hear My Voice, now, on the wind.
You must Love now! Love them all!”
“The End is near, Promised Time.
Grab Your ladders now and climb!
Take heed now or burn with them,
The daemon race! Hear HaShem!
Hear Him speak, now, hear Him rhyme!”
(Editor’s note: NonDoc publishes poetry and other creative writing. Contact us at editorial@nondoc.com to submit your work.)
