Rhyming Isaiah, Chapter 57

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.