The Madness of Babylon
by Bre Smith © 2022Oh, Babylon, Oh, Babylon
That wicked head of gold!
She's enchanted every nation
From ancient days of old
Her divination has blinded
The eyes of multitudes
And evil spirits guided
Worship of similitudes
Prognosticating aid she seeks
Only makes her weary
Her persecution of the meek
Will make her weep and bleary
Clandestine rites and rituals
Will come into the light
Drink offerings and victuals
Can't free her from her plight
Her riches can not be compared -
Oh! But at what cost?
Indulgences that she's prepared
Insures her to be lost
Bane amalgamous devices
Will ultimately cleave
Pharmekeia soon entices
Those who refuse to leave
She's brought all into her mattress
An idolatrous boudoir,
Iconographic madness
And poppy-fueled stupor
Come out of her, you have been warned
Her judgement's in the scroll
Her idols with which she's adorned
Can never save a soul
But there is One Who healed the blind
And cast out the legion
If you seek Him then you will find
The God of salvation
Revelation 3:20
Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and will dine with him, and he with Me.
This poem was a finalist in the
September 2022 poetry contest
