The Problem of Sin

From bank accounts to dens of opium,
We seek the goods that satisfy the soul.
Yet we must be pathetic or quite dumb,
Because we never reach our final goal.
We know that love and service fill the need,
For ecstasy requires sacrifice,
And yet we still perform the foul deed,
We cheat and steal, pretending to be nice.
We know that love will satisfy the need,
But we cannot believe it to be so,
We’d rather sow in cunning and in greed,
To reap in women, wine, and filthy dough.
So faith alone can save us from our sin,
To spark the love, reforming us within.
-Tyler William O’Neil
-August 23, 2009

The Answer to Suffering

A thousand evils rage upon the Earth,
Despair bursts both the tongue and grape of joy,
And though each instant holds tremendous worth,
No satisfaction meets desire’s ploy.
Vain science seeks to urge the pleasure on,
To overtake desire’s tyranny,
Yet ev’ry satisfaction soon is gone,
And Man is left in bleak despondency.
Pure meditation strangles passion’s hold,
Restraining all desire to its death,
The pain removed, so follows close the gold,
As meaning dies in passion’s final breath.
Submission is alone the perfect course,
For glory lies within the pain’s divorce.
-Tyler William O’Neil
March 10, 2009

Subjective Objectivity

Subjective good may vary man to man,
One loves a dollar, one a platitude,
Yet all agree on what they should demand,
For some love even evil as the Good.
Experience may yield quite different views,
As age will often disagree with youth,
Yet all perceive what it is good to choose,
And some love even falsehood as the Truth.
How varied are the things that smite the soul!
One loves a woman, one the music's pull,
Yet all converge upon a common goal,
And some love ugly things as Beautiful.
So while, assenting, subjects give their nod,
They love the very attributes of God.
-Tyler William O'Neil
-July 21, 2009

X Temperantia

(Temperance/ Moderation)
The world has never been a perfect place,
At least we can't remember if it was.
Yet listen, ye reformers, in your haste-
You err too much in fighting what it does.
No virtue on its own can be enought-
The courage without principle is dead;
A wisdom lost for action is but fluff,
And careless kindness ever weighs as lead.
Ye mustn't pick but one to be your guide-
To follow one is folly in the least,
It would be worse than if you hadn't tried,
Obsession makes a demon of the priest.
To right the wrongs that everyone can see,
The virtues must be mixed in harmony.
-Vir Cogitans Americanus
Scribit Dies XXVIII Iunii, Anno Domini MMVII

VIII Bellum Tacitum

(The Silent War)
Oh, when and where have men of virtue gone?
Their footsteps died away an age ago,
We strain to hear their noble fading song,
While rising up the banner of its foe.
That noblest excuse for lechery-
The artistry and pleasure of the base
Does ever hail that grand debauchery,
The beauty that is shallow in its haste.
Pale art is not alone in its attempt,
Cruel science holds its standard higher still.
The works of Man do ever seem unkept,
And power over nature boosts his will.
The artistry and virtue are at war,
Indulgence and the gloried days of yore.
-Vir Cogitans Americanus
Scribit dies XXVII Iunii, Anno Domini MMVII

135 The Greatest Force

It lies ahead- there is the greatest force,
The soul is dead, corrupted at its core,
Our fullest selves emerge through self-divorce,
From Nature we diverge to something more.
Through centuries of change, grand Nature’s grown,
Yet changes of the age are greater still,
The mother’s work is man, by him she’s known,
Her greatest perk exhausted, man’s her fill.
Yet still the cry of “instinct” can be heard,
The foulest lie is that our lust is right.
From gluttons fattened bone, control is learned,
Perfection though, alone- will end the blight!
As man o’er Nature rules, he shall transcend
Yet God does hold the tools, our selves to end.
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written January 18, 2007

105 The Fallen Soldier

The dreaded foe arises to his height,
The greatest woe, the soldier prostrate lies,
A dagger to the heart in all his might,
The devil’s fiery dart he does despise-
For refuge does he flee, to dull the pain,
The devil laughs with glee to see his loss,
He wallows deep, afraid to face the stain,
He kneels to weep, prepared to face the cost.
Yet softest light, betrays the evil snare,
A newer fight will cripple horrid beast,
The soldier’s woe forgot, he joins the fair,
All evil’s pow’r for nought, down falls the beast!
The light awaits the call, in silence lies,
‘Til he who knows the fall for vic’try cries!
© Jerusalemrising
Written November 24, 2006