The Passing Pleasures of Sin – haiku by Dennis Allen Lange

—

Is your aim
Wine, women, and song?
Not for long.

— 

When time’s passed,
You’ll be yearning for
What will last.

— 

photo by Alex Bruda at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nEuJlhO/water

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* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

 

 

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End Road Work Sign – haiku by Dennis Allen Lange

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End Road Work.
It seems it’s a lie.
It goes on.

— 

End Road Work!
We all command it –
Our desire.

— 

End Road Work?
No, we all know it’s
Eternal.

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photo by Robert Linder at
http://www.rgbstock.com/photo/nIQBMmg/Construction

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* The haiku I write are lines of 3-5-3 syllables instead of 5-7-5.

See Haiku article here for explanation, if needed: https://thebardonthehill.wordpress.com/2011/08/08/haiku/

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© Dennis Allen Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2018.

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Last Lines by Emily Bronte

No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere:
I see Heaven’s glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear. 

O God, within my breast,
Almighty, ever-present Deity!
Life – that in me has rest,
As I -undying Life – have power in Thee! 

Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men’s hearts: unutterably vain;
Worthless as withered weeds,
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main, 

To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by thine infinity;
So surely anchored on
The steadfast rock of immortality,

With wide-embracing love
Thy Spirit animates eternal years,
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears. 

Though earth and man were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And Thou were left alone,
Every existence would exist in Thee.

There is not room for Death,
Nor atom that his might could render void:
Thou – Thou art Being and Breath,
And what Thou art may never be destroyed.

 

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The Passionate Man’s Pilgrimage by Sir Walter Raleigh

Supposed to be written by one at the point of death.

 

Give me my scallop shell of quiet,
My staff of faith to walk upon,
My scrip of joy, immortal diet,
My bottle of salvation:
My gown of glory, hope’s true gage,
And thus I’ll make my pilgrimage.

Blood must be my body’s balmer,
No other balm will there be given
Whilst my soul like a white palmer
Travels to the land of heaven,
Over the silver mountains,
Where spring the nectar fountains;
And there I’ll kiss
The bowl of bliss,
And drink my eternal fill
On every milken hill.
My soul will be a-dry before,
But after it, will ne’er thirst more.

And by the happy blissful way
More peaceful pilgrims I shall see,
That have shook off their gowns of clay,
And go apparelled fresh like me.
I’ll bring them  first
To slake their thirst,
And then to taste those nectar suckets
At the clear wells
Where sweetness dwells,
Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets.

And when our bottles and all we
Are filled with immortality;
Then the holy paths we’ll travel
Strewed with rubies thick as gravel,
Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors,
High walls of coral and pearl bowers.

From thence to heaven’s bribeless hall
Where no corrupted voices brawl,
No conscience molten into gold,
Nor forg’d accusers bought and sold,
No cause deferred, nor vain-spent journey,
For there Christ is the King’s Attorney:
Who pleads for all without degrees,
And he hath angels, but no fees.

When the grand twelve million jury
Of our sins with sinful fury,
Gainst our souls black verdicts give,
Christ pleads his death, and then we live.
Be thou my speaker, taintless pleader,
Unblotted lawyer, true proceeder,
Thou movest salvation even for alms,
Nor with a bribéd lawyer’s palms.

And this is my eternal plea,
To him that made heaven, earth and sea,
Seeing my flesh must die so soon,
And want a head to dine next noon,
Just at the stroke when my veins start and spread
Set on my soul and everlasting head.
Then am I ready like a palmer fit,
To tread those blest paths which before I writ.

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The Land Of Never Ending by Dennis Lange

In the land of never ending,
…In the country far away,
There are loved ones who are waiting
…For the end of night and day.

In the land of ever always,
…Where the river never dries,
The night and day were never there,
…Just everlasting skies.

In the land where all’s forever,
…The night will never come.
So candles are as needed as
…A hiker’s begging thumb.

In the land that is eternal,
…Where the Son’s the only sun,
It’s our turn that they’re waiting,
…Since theirs is now begun.

Their joy full, for ours they wait –
…The end of night and day,
In the land of never ending,
…In the country far away.

—

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© Dennis Lange and thebardonthehill.wordpress.com, 2011.

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Truth, The Invincible by William Cullen Bryant

Truth crushed to earth shall rise again, –
…The eternal years of God are hers;
But Error, wounded, writhes with pain,
…And dies among his worshippers.

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