Rhyming Isaiah, Chapter 59

Too short to save? See, the LORD’s hand is not,
nor is his ear too dull to hear, but it
is your iniquities that separate
you from your God. It is your sins that make
him hide his face from you so that he won’t
hear you. For how your hands, with blood are stained,
and how your fingers have been dipped in guilt;
your lips have spoken lies and it’s deceit
that your tongue utters.  No one brings their suit
with upright cause, or pleading honestly;
rely, they, on pleas, empty, lies, they speak,
conceiving mischief and iniquity,
begetting.  They’ve snakes’ eggs, their hatchery,
in, and it’s cobwebs, that is what they weave.
Whoever will consume those eggs will die,
for rotten eggs have rottenness inside.
Their webs, for making cloth, cannot be used;
for clothing, their works, nobody would choose.
Their works are all works of iniquity,
and in their hands, of violence, are deeds.
To evil, where they run upon their feet
and they rush to shed blood that’s innocent;
their thoughts are thoughts of guilt, maleficent,
both havoc, too, and ruin, what they leave
behind where’er they go.  The way of peace,
they do not know, and justice, there is no,
in their paths.  They’ve made crooked all their roads
and, any peace, who treads them, no one knows.

This is why justice is removed from us,
and how it’s far from our reach, righteousness;
we wait for light, but, only darkness, see;
for daybreak, but in gloom, how we proceed.
We grope along the wall like men who’re blind,
we feel our way like people without eyes.
We stumble at midday just as at dusk,
like we are dead, we move with the robust.
Like bears, we all growl, mournfully, like doves,
we moan.  We wait for justice but there’s none,
deliverance, for, but it’s far from us.
How often, we, against you, have rebelled,
and our sins, witness, bear, ‘gainst us, as well.
Yes, our offenses are with us indeed
and we know all of our iniquities:
transgressing, and, the LORD, denying him,
and turning back, our God, from following,
we threaten outrage and apostasy
and utter falsehoods that our hearts conceived.
Fair judgment, how it’s driven far away
and, stands aloof, the justice that would save,
for, stumbles, truth, out in the public square,
and honesty, it cannot enter there.
Good faith has vanished and the man who flees
from evil is despoiled entirely.

The LORD saw it, and how it, him, displeased,
that there was, justice, no, and too, was, he
appalled when there were none to intervene;
so his own might brought him the victory,
his righteousness supported him, beneath.
How justice, what he wore to plate his breast,
salvation as a helmet on his head;
of vengeance, garments, he put on as clothes,
and, fury, wrapped around him like a cloak.
So he’ll repay according to their deeds:
his adversaries, his wrath, they will feel,
and his requital on his enemies.
So from the west, the LORD’s name will be feared
and from the east his glory is revered.
His glory comes, a pent-up river, like
which the LORD’s breath, in power, onward, drives.
This is my covenant, the LORD avows
with them: My spirit with which I endowed
you, and my words that I put in your mouth
shall never leave your mouth and will be found,
the mouths, in, of those who from you descend,
and, your grandchildren’s mouths, even in them,
from now on and as well, forevermore,
thus what was said, these words were by the LORD.

Rhyming Isaiah, Chapter 58

Rhyming Isaiah, Chapter 57

The righteous perish and nobody cares;
how the devout, away, are taken there,
and no one will give it a second thought.
Far from calamity are the upright,
away, swept, and it’s peace that they will find;
but those who walk uprightly, they will rest
when they are fin’lly laid on their deathbeds.
But you are children of a sorceress,
come here, you wanton race, adulterous,
you offspring of a prostitute, no less!
Who is it that you target with your jests?
Against whom do you open your mouths wide
and stick your tongues out? You spawn of a lie,
the offspring of deceit–the oaks beneath,
those sacred ones, how there, you are in heat,
with lust you’re underneath each spreading tree;
you, children, sacrifice in the ravines,
the rocky cliffs, the place that’s, them, beneath.
The smooth stones of the valley, they will be
your portion, yes, your lot is all of these.
To these, libations, you have poured them out
and, offerings of cereal, you brought.
In spite of this, am I still to relent?
On a high mountaintop, you’ve made your bed,
there too, you’ve climbed to offer sacrifice.
Behind the doorpost to your living space,
your secret symbol, sign, there you have placed
Deserting me, you’ve stripped and, down, you’ve lain,
on the wide bed, the one that you have made
with men, your bargains, for which they have paid,
to have the pleasure of a shared embrace
and making love, while on your sign, you gaze.
With oil, your tresses, how them you suffused,
you’re lavish in your use of sweet perfumes.
You sent out your procurers far and wide,
down even into Sheol, it’s confines.
From all your wanderings, you, weary, grew
but never thought, was desperate, your plight.
You found that your desire had been renewed
and so it never weakened, that, your drive.

Of whom were you afraid so that you lied,
that you became false, and you, me, forgot
or never gave to me a second thought?
Did I not, silent, keep, and look away
so that, of me, you would not be afraid?
Now I’ll expose this righteousness of yours,
what little good for you has it ensured.
Your idols will not help you when you cry.
A puff of wind, their place, to them, denies;
it’s just a breath that will blow them away.
But he who will, his refuge, in me, place
shall see the land be his inheritance
and he, my holy mountain, shall possess.

Build up, build up, then how the LORD will say, 
remove each obstacle, prepare their way,
my people’s path.  Thus, the Exalted One,
and he who’s High, all of these words intones,
he who inhabits it, eternity,
whose name is Holy: Where I dwell will be
on high, in holiness, and too, with those 
who’re humble, and, have been crushed, spirits, whose
so that, the humble’s spirits, I’ll revive,
and too, revive the hearts of the contrite.
For I will not accuse continually
and neither will I, always, angry, be,
or else the creatures’ spirits whom I made,
how underneath my onslaught, they would fail.
Their wicked avarice, of that, because,
I, angry, was; it’s down, where I struck them.
I hid myself in wrath while where they went,
in their own way that was rebellious.
Still, I will heal them though I’ve seen their ways.
I will lead them and, them, I will repay
with comfort, and upon their lips, I’ll place,
those ones who mourn, they will speak words of praise.
For all of them, both far and near, Peace, peace, 
the LORD says, and it’s them whom I will heal.
The wicked are, but, like a storm-tossed sea,
like one that can’t, its stillness, ever keep;
its waters, mud and mire, toss from the deep.
My God says, for the wicked, there’s no peace.