Poetry

THE FAITH OF OUR ANCESTORS

by Walter Boswell
03/25/19
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The Faith of Our Ancestors

Nodding to the faith of the anxious.

                                All is set liberals and libertines here:

                    for infanticides and homicides and genocides –

             the heartless and the loveless drive the listless away,

         leaving no room for the ghetto-sanctified,

             and myself, a conservative soul, homeless once more.

                             “There was never a question of that,

           only by what easement and by what consent to move …

                         back to the Dark Ages of the barbarians …

nodding to the faith of the Ancients.”

They had their Marxist revolutions told them,

                their World War II, their Stalin Russia, their Maoist China;

                      still they think socialism, communism, and fascism

                                     are free starts to individual liberty.

                       The pain of sin that never leaves the homeland:

                    purifying in themselves the stench of their own evil,

              through break-rapids, by cross-currents, to hidden rocks

                      steer the blindness of their own cataract vision.

                            Theirs is a sickness beyond all operation,

                            a leprosy soldered to the New Colonies,

                 where once wondrous innovation breathed strong

             and capital beauty rang true, but now fare-ly learned,

they have only their death-bell revolutions tolled them.

By Which Path

A Life

Attracted to corruption, deluded by dishonesty, 

Disrupted by the masses, committed to distraction; 

Cauterized to concern, partitioned with inner-guilt;

Immunized to conviction, habituated to violence; 

Addicted to vain longing, appointed to criticize;

Impressed by glorious domination.

A Spirit

Blessed by His honor, enlightened by His truth;

Practiced to His messages, attuned to His favors;

Sanctioned by His love, fortified by His blood;

Reformed by His chastisement, warmed by His peace;

Approved by His baptism, comforted by His mercy;

Impressed by His glorious presence.

First and Last

The first among the angelic hosts

                must bear heaven as their only certainty.

And the least sot in earth and water

                must witness only devils as his drunken masters.

Ordinary selves long to touch that which is unreachable

                                for all but the vain and the dying;

                whereas in the extraordinary must agitate

                                                the revitalizing chemistry of God,

                                and new hope rendered in eternal life.

I am a simple soul,

                with no real evidence of my coming or being here,

                except by which breath is exhaled back in the universe.

It would have sufficed for now to have seen       creation reborn.

Dr. Walter Boswell

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