To grumble about the world and its unhappiness is always easier than to beat one’s breast and groan over oneself.― Søren Kierkegaard

Between the murmuring and the grievances
in our wilderness of Sin
we scurry greedily in the gathering
of every good and perishable thing
hoarding imprecise portions ―Yahweh
had opened up the heavens, raining down
divinely numinous things
Billowing east and powerful south winds
He rained down flesh upon them like dust
―of manna and corn from heaven
angels food, too recondite for us

In fatness of soul we say come, eat, drink
and be merry, let us delight in material goods, and
if we die tomorrow―twas beauty misunderstood
Wine is a mocker, strong drink denies
in the end it bites like a venomous serpent
whoever is led astray by them is not wise
Wretched, poor, blind, and naked
we grope obliviously, stumbling in the dark
recall righteous Noah, straight out of the Ark
Champions of drinking wine
lovers of prophets, speaking wind and lies, they
prophesy of strong drink and wine
no recovery of sight, just the blind leading the blind.

And while the meat yet fills our mouths
God grants us our desire, binding us to our lusts
hearts consumed by vanity of vanity
for in the Branch―the True Vine, we do not trust.
So do not boast about tomorrow
―where you will go, what you will eat and drink
for the day is soon over, and the night is far spent
the darkness is encroaching, the bell tolls―repent
Between the suffering and the groaning
is every good and pleasant thing
hidden manna for overcomers, a white stone
and a new name, redeemed from the wilderness of Sin.

Artwork: Suwit Avirut 3D model of the Starry Night, Vincent van Gogh Museum