Rhyming Isaiah, Chapter 3

Rhyming Isaiah, Chapter 3

For now, the Sovereign, of hosts, the LORD,
away, is taking from Jerusalem,
and Judah, both their staff and their support–
all their reserves of water and of bread–
the warrior, soldier, prophet, judge, all them,
the elder and the one who, fortunes, tells,
the dignitary and of fifty men,
their captain, the magician with great skill,
and the expert enchanter. “How I shall
make boys their princes, babes to rule o’er them.”
By everyone, the people, all, oppressed,
each by another, evil, their intent,
each person to their neighbor. Insolence,
the youth will show their elders, disrespect,
mere nobodies toward higher-ranking men.

A man will take hold of his brother in
his father’s house, and saying this to him:
“You have a cloak so you will be our chief.
We’re in your charge, our stricken family.”
But then the brother will at once reply,
“Society’s, its wounds, I cannot heal,
when in my house, there’s neither cloak nor meal.
You shall not put me in, authority,
a place of, over people, all of them.”
For it has been brought low, Jerusalem,
and to great grief, the place where Judah’s come,
for they defied the LORD in word and deed,
within his sight, provoked his majesty.

Against them, on their faces, testifies,
the look, like Sodom, their sins, glorify,
parading them, their sins they do not hide.
Woe to them! For they have upon themselves
brought evil. Fortunate, how they are, tell
the innocent, for what it is they’ll eat?
That of their labors, bountiful, the fruit.
Woe to the wicked! All goes ill with them;
the work of their own hands, their recompense.
The moneylenders strip my people bear,
and usurers lord all their debts, them, o’er.
My people, those who guide you, there, astray,
the path to ruin, they’re leading you that way.

The LORD comes forward to argue his case,
he stands to judge, his people, to accuse.
The LORD, his prosecution, implements,
his people’s elders, princes, them, against:
“It’s you, the vineyard, who, ravaged, devoured;
inside your houses, spoils took from the poor.
By crushing, people, my, what do you mean,
the poor when they look to you, grinding down,”
the LORD, the God of hosts, says. The LORD said:
“Because of Zion’s daughters’ haughtiness,
and how they walk around with outstretched necks,
and with their eyes, they’re glancing wantonly,
they move with mincing gaits and jingling feet.
The LORD will, Zion’s daughters, their heads, smite
with baldness, and the LORD, how, bare, he’ll make
their foreheads.” In that day, the LORD will take
their finery, their jewelry away,
their anklets, headbands, bracelets, coronets;
their crescents, discs, scarves, and their necklaces;
headdresses, perfume boxes, amulets;
the signet rings and nose rings; festal robes,
the mantles, handbags, flounced skirts, too, the cloaks;
the gauze and linen garments, turbans, veils.
Instead of sweet perfume, that of decay,
its stench; no girdle, rope will take its place;
instead of well-set hair, a head, bald, shaved;
not gorgeous robes, but sackcloth ‘round the waist;
instead of beauty, there’s a brand of shame.
It’s by the sword how Zion’s men will fall,
and warriors in a battle, they will all.
They shall lament and mourn, will Zion’s gates;
and stripped bare, she will, on the ground, there, sit.