Month: January 2021

Rhyming Isaiah, Chapter 39

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Rhyming Isaiah, Chapter 39

The son of Baladan of Babylon,

King Merodach-baladan, it was when,

he heard that Hezekiah, sick, had been,

and had recovered, envoys, to him, sent,

with letters and a gift to, him, present.

Them, Hezekiah welcomed; he showed them

his treasure house, the silver and the gold,

the spices and the armory, its whole,

the precious oil, all that was found within

his storehouses. There wasn’t anything

within his house or in his realm, entire,

that Hezekiah, viewing, their, denied.

Isaiah then, to ask, the prophet, came,

“What did these men say?  Where did they come from?”

How Hezekiah answered, “From a land

that’s distant, they came to me, Babylon,

from there.” Isaiah asked demandingly,

“What in your palace is it that they’ve seen?”

His question, Hezekiah, to, replied:

“They have seen everything, my house, inside;

in my storehouses, there was not a thing

I didn’t show or, to their sight, denied.”

Isaiah, then, to Hezekiah, said,

“Hear, of the LORD of hosts, this is the word:

Are coming, days, when all that’s in your house

and everything your ancestors amassed

until this day, to Babylon, they’ll be,

off, carried; what will be left: not a thing,

the LORD says. Some of your own sons who’ve been

born, and who bodily, from you, descend,

will be abducted to be eunuchs in

the palace of the King of Babylon.”

Then, to Isaiah, Hezekiah said:

“What you have spoken, the word of the LORD

is good.”  For this he thought inside his head,

“There will be both peace and security

within my lifetime, all the years I’ll see.”

Rhyming Isaiah, Chapter 38

~ Quetzalhiloco Publishing ~ Leave a comment

Rhyming Isaiah, Chapter 38

In those days Hezekiah, sick, became

and he was at the point of death, that place.

Isaiah son of Amoz, to him, came,

the prophet, and said to him, “The LORD says:

Your last instructions, to your household, give

for you are dying, you’ll no longer live.

You won’t recover from how you are sick.”

Then to the wall was where he turned his face

and, to the LORD, how Hezekiah prayed:

“Remember now, O LORD, you, I implore,

how faithfully I’ve walked, with you, before,

with a whole heart, how I consistently,

what’s pleasing to you, did.” And bitterly,

how Hezekiah wept specifically.

Then, of the LORD, Isaiah, to him came

the word, “Go, Hezekiah, to, and say,

Thus says the LORD who is the God of your

ancestor David: I have heard your prayer,

I’ve seen your tears; I will add fifteen years

onto your life. I will deliver you,

and from his clutches, I, this city, too,

will save it from the king’s, Assyrian.

I’ll be a shield, this city, to defend.

(“A plaster made of figs,” Isaiah said,

“prepare, and then, onto the boil, apply,

so that he’ll make a full recovery.”

This also, Hezekiah, he had said:

“What is the sign?  How is it that I’ll know,

up to the LORD’s house, where it is I’ll go?”)

“This is a sign to you that’s from the LORD,

that, he, the LORD will do this thing, assured,

that he has promised: See, how I will make

the shadow cast, the setting sun’s, turn back

ten steps upon the stairway of Ahaz.”

So then the sun came backwards those ten steps,

the ones the shadow passed as the sun set.

A poem wrote by Hezekiah, King,

from illness after his recovery:

I said this: In the noontide of my days

I must depart; for how, to Sheol’s gates,

I’ve been consigned, and there, where I’ll remain,

eternally, there, I will make my place.

I said, I shall no longer see the LORD

as I did, of the living, in the land;

I shall no longer see my fellow men

as I did, how, in the world, I lived, when.

My dwelling, what has been removed from me,

pulled up just like a tent where shepherds sleep;

I, like a weaver, have rolled up my life;

and, from the loom, he looks to cut me off;

from day to night you bring me to an end;

until the morning, I, for help, cry, then;

just like a lion, he breaks all my bones;

from day to night you bring me to an end.

I clamor like a swallow or a crane,

it’s like a dove, the way that I will moan.

My eyes have, weary, grown, from looking up.

LORD, I am overwhelmed. Come to my help!

What can I say to him? How can I speak?

He is the one to act and I must eke,

existence, from my years, which ones are left.

Because of my soul and its bitterness,

all of my nightly sleep, from me, has fled.

Yet, LORD, because of you, my soul will live.

My spirit, rest, I ask you, me, to give;

restore me and life, to me, please now give.

In bitterness and not prosperity,

that place where my lot had been cast indeed,

but your love saved me from destruction’s pit.

Behind you, where you have thrust all my sins.

For Sheol cannot thank you, death cannot,

you, praise, for those who go down to the Pit,

hope for your faithfulness, they can’t hold that.

The living, it’s the living, you, they thank,

as I do this day; fathers, how they make

known to their children of your faithfulness.

The LORD will save me and to instruments

with strings, how we will sing, all of the days

of our lives at the LORD’s house as our place.