Lamenting’s Prolapse

Ruling by gentle guide figuring the Adored?

Instead pestilential secrecies chaining

Croesus’ creosoting code and harness,

 

Abandoned now by recurrent calls to lament after Jeremiah’s unheeded

Call to the Shema’s buckle—lev’s twice intonation—

instead gate and house built atop a creted curtain of language, electronifried—

As the fell city falls because a false corner angle stoned its dethrown.

 

Pity, pity, pit without lament

Such vaporous course

Channeled by history’s recursing, wellworks leading

Rockets into the most sere space,

A chilled universe where a bit of heated blood stands against the suck of absolute zeroing.

 

History’s looping met with flaming swords, turning angels,

Pitch and bitumen coursed

Inhospitted dumping warned

For souls better fit by hospital than programs of fools, chaised,

 

By absurdities proud

By atrocities condemned

By boxing no verities

Instead accruing the slap of God

 

Who may no longer commend the promise nor command the land

 

Which by a Geiger millennium feeds the earth’s memory with static,

where recollection of habitus’ rebuke only ebbed, never neaps:

 

the moon and the omens of false noon were machined into denial,

gematria and mysts,

where trust was the heart’s covenant voiced by Jeremiah and routed

through lamentation:

How lonely again sits the city

that once was full of people!

 

Destiny's sequence humiliates by its most stark and full compass,

is the land of re-bel(l)ow-ing,

is the boundary doused of its hot iron security,

is the steams and bubbles hissing its last:

Promotion most fouling by disputations,

By training authority to arrogates.

 

And here they come, by two flashes of thundering incursed

By moments of resetting tropics

By two wipings of poison rain incapable of bowing,

And hosting no ministry call or davit:

 

No sky to pull down, rather the sky has pulled down

kings’ counseling conceits

against the anointed season

And the inheritance of the meek.

 

Vain silence that kept watch now has not even eyes

To opportune yoke,

Silence long last ground shifting,

Silence last begotten.

UTC / GMT: Mar 9, 2026 – 11:58:50

--Douglas Blake Olds