Presbyterians, prudently invested
Their faith and their doctrine uncontested

Live for days of God-knows-what.

Ever predictably not offending
Maintaining stability, while sending

Children to the proper schools.

So far removed from Luther, Calvin, Knox
That Reformation grace holds up their socks.

They read Tim Keller’s books and aim to please
And sometimes even pray upon their knees,

Smiling blandly, heeding rules.

Presbyterians have milquetoast in the soul
Which keeps God’s passion under their control

While waiting for Lord-knows-what.

The muse induces glorious trance:
She beckons to the lyric dance.
Descending from the heights of data,
Latin love, persona grata,
She knows my madness, used to me
“Go write some verse” she coos to me,
An ever-patient Muse to me . . .

My woke and wild Parnassian queen
Now conjures a pathetic scene:
The nations murmur in despair—
Technocracy would strip them bare.
Dictating mandates from on high,
Foul globalists would justify
An anti-world of endless strife:
Data-driven shit that passes for life,
Intending to impose their rules
On us: their meek plebeian tools.
They stimulate a failing system,
See what cashless chaos gets them;
Nouveau-feudalism’s ranks
Fund every war and prop up banks . . .
They’ll launch the drones and dig the pits;
Force it on upon us until it fits,
Then plunder, as the system fails.
Angels fall. It’s in the details.

The Lord of wine and Canaanite whores,
Born from Rahab, Tamar, and Ruth,
Has ceased from His bronze-age holy wars
To offer eternal life and truth.

He’s unimpressed with Judah’s sin,
Talmudic blasphemies and lies;
The other tribes come streaming in
While Roman troops revive and rise.

We sense a second flood is due
To rinse the earth of humankind
And punishing sin, make all things new . . .
Thus Daniel, Job and John divined.

God’s current spokesmouths miss the mark.
Dark clouds are gathering. It looks
Like doors are closing on the Ark;
In vain they seek His face in books.

We take our cues from Pharisees—
Assured we are not Canaanites,
Engrossed in genealogies
While tyrants take away our rights.

But Christ Himself was not ashamed
To have a harlot in His line.
And so the Jews must not be blamed
For willful blindness to His sign.

It’s time for you to to get up to speed,
Take up and read, like Augustine . . .
Discern the messianic seed
And family lines, and in between.