You like their naked bodies just as much
as they do; maybe even a bit more.
But you prefer to rend, not just to touch;
the way the raging anger that you hurled,
at them, with your suggestive verbiage, tore
apart the long awaited and despised
recipients of grace, imparadised.
These adolescent lovers, even still,
are faithful to each other and, repenting,
have not died. Slither off to do some venting:
the unexpected outcome makes you ill.
You have not proved, at all, your dominance,
supreme; and wishful is your arrogance.
Those two must leave the garden for the world;
but He, whom you expected to condemn
fully, has promised to remain with them.
He has even provided them with clothes.
Despite all that, you will quickly oppose
His efforts. But His will achieves preemption
of your plans: covenanting their redemption.
Yes, after they have wrecked His handiwork
He offers them assurance of Salvation.
You think such mercy an annoying quirk
of His---the thought that flamed to aggravation
and, in time, brings you to hell fire's damnation.
A Preacher Preaches
Nice sermon - thanks, I needed the reminder that there are principles warring for my soul. I'm electing the good angel. Love and Prayers for you. ~allets~
Thank you so very much. When
Thank you so very much. When I had my first adolescent stirrings toward poetry, forty years ago this very month (Monday, October 13, 1975), I wanted to write just like John Milton (the only example I had at hand in those days). This poem probably fulfilled that desire, although decades later than I expected in my adolescent naivete.
Starward