146 Joy

Some say to eat and drink, and to be gay-
And yet I ever think of the divine,
That truth which passes, in a mocking way,
The “happy” masses in their mocking shrine!
The gaiety that comes in mocking form
Is misery when pondered deeply, lo-
If to their “happiness” one does conform,
He finds an emptiness bereft of soul!
Yet if he does diverge to seek the truth,
His spirit will emerge to self-destroy-
This gaiety is known to ag’d as “youth”-
Sobriety fulfilled is drunken joy.
And so I say to ponder deep, enjoy-
The disarray of sloth’s deceitful ploy!
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written February 19, 2007

124 Thus Spake Zarathustra

The time is yet to come when man is great,
And what he shall become none here can say,
For man is young, in this his great debate,
The glories sung are ever few today.
For happiness, mankind is ever numb,
Magnificence is seldom on his lips,
The fruits of wisdom’s gold appeal to some,
The seekers grow too old, potential drips.
In end the treasured bliss is too content,
The purposed one dismisses self pursuit,
But wisdom stays, it is man’s best intent,
All else decays, but wisdom isn’t moot.
The superman, as Zarathustra spoke,
His time began as wisdom’s silence broke.
© Jerusalemrising
Written December 26, 2006

123 The Guise of the Christ Mass

The rhythm’s sound, a beauteous, flitting guise
The spirit found imprints upon the minds,
The songs of birth and life do well disguise,
The horrid death and strife time soon unwinds.
For fist the night He came held naught of peace,
True silence, beau’teous dame did not appear,
For He, divine, did come as peace decreased,
His birth did shine in crowded city’s fear. (fear of not getting a place to stay)
His life was meant to save the sinful mass,
To Earth was sent a man condemned to die,
His horrid bloody pain did come to pass,
He washed the horrid stain so man could fly.
Now men of young and old enjoy the day,
Yet Christmas story told was hardly gay. (gay = happy here)
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O’Neil)
Written December 24, 2006

118 The Threefold Caste

Some see in hollow earth a beaut’eous light,
They bury all their worth beneath the sands,
And yet when time, a monster, shows its might,
Their broken rhyme is lost to fleeting glance.
Where such see worth, the most do find despair,
They search the earth, for balm to quell their pain,
Their lives as well are lost, with joyous air,
Which tells the deathly cost of happy feign.
The last of broken man do hold his hope,
The wise unwanted man is ere the sage,
He searches not for happiness to cope,
Nor revels, caught by riches of the age.
Instead the wise will woo that maiden truth,
When purpose cries, comes glory to the sleuth.
© Jerusalemrising (Tyler O'Neil)
Written December 19, 2006