Poetry

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This was for sin of the prophets,
The iniquities of the priest;
As anything that exhibits,
Immoralities that exist.

Who shed in the midst of the blood,
That have fallen from the righteous;
The unrighteous drown in the flood,
Having an immoral conscious.

They wander blindly through the street,
Since they have been so defiled;
Because the blood is tasting sweet,
A temptation so beguiled.

You unclean people get away,
Away! Away! And do not touch;
For the righteous want not to stray,
With no desire insomuch.

So, they have become fugitives,
Like nomads being wanderers;
Their language filled with expletives,
While being as squanderers.

Because of them being heathen,
They shall no longer sojourn here;
Their dwellings they shall abandon,
And scattering them nowhere near.

The Lord Himself will scatter them,
His anger will be bringing wrath;
Ensuring that He will condemn,
That will be striking in their path.

No longer will He consider,
Respecting not showing honor;
God will not be the forgiver,
Since they will not be a fawner.

They show no honor to elders,
The priests are not given favor;
Those righteous that are faith builders,
The heathen sees not the Savior.

Ever watching, our eyes fail,
Watching vainly for a nation;
Vigilance is of no avail,
Without having the salvation.

For the breath of our nostrils,
Which is anointed by the Lord;
That any righteous man trembles,
Since they remain in one accord.

Copyright © 2019 Richard Newton Sherrer

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