To his dying day, my father refused to believe me and could not and would not understand that what had been done in me by God made an irreconcilable difference between him and me not only in terms of thought and way of life but very nature.
He lingered for the old Victor he was once the father of, not willing to accept that I had died. He went to his grave lingering at mine. If only he had desired not the grave for the two of us but the resurrection. What man in his right mind would trade the skies and birds for the underground and worms? So, in all sadness, I turned my back on him, but do not regret it, no, not for a moment.
You linger at my grave, longing for your son;
I’ve left the darkness for the light and what is done is done.
The change in me is not perceived by frail human sight
And so you think that I am wrong and you are surely right.
Reason fails to comprehend the things in my new life;
Explanations will not do, they only lead to strife.
People, habits, memories call but I’ve traded old for new;
I’ve traded all that’s bad and false for all that’s good and true.
I’m a stranger in this world whom you have never met;
I’ve only kept this outer shell on which your hearts are set.
My life is hid in Jesus Christ; believe me you will not;
Your hearts are very hard and cold, for truth you have not sought.
I’d rather walk on foreign soil than to this evil world be loyal,
And trade the rags of dirt and toil for robes magnificent and royal.
Kingly blood flows through my veins as I am led down holy lanes;
I’ve left the world of sorrow and pains, and climb the heights for greater gains.
Some day I know I will return for others who will come
And each man will, in his own time, ’til all are in the sum.
Great and glorious will be the day when all men drop the sword
And raise their hands in harmony to praise our mighty Lord.
Dauphin, 1978, 79
Social and moral issues abound. There is no want of them – ever. And rarely are they settled to the true benefit of all. Debate goes on and on and on. The minds involved grow deeper in darkness until, with all their statistics and evidences, arguments and logic, all sides are as raving mad men, utterly failing to put their finger on the problem, much less finding a solution for it. This writing came quite spontaneously and basically expresses the truth that darkened evil minds must be given the right and the opportunity to suffer the fruits of their thinking. Their consequences will speak far louder than the voices of those who try to spare them their folly. Abort the mark of tragedy; Abort the evidence of pleasure; Abort the stark reminder Of consequence for evil. Rid yourself of nuisance; Rid yourself of cost; Pay no mind but to yourself; For your sake a life is lost. Still the witness, erase the interruption, Forget the past, if you can; Still the conscience For crying against your deeds. Is the conscience in your womb? Rather than removing the turd, Cover it with a mound of manure. Now what? But go and do your will, woman; Exterminate your seed Lest we be overwhelmed With the fruits of your ways, The posterity of your thoughts; Haunted by mammoth mounds, Perishing one and all. Lethbridge, Aug. 19, 1984
It is already a wonder that the word "leisure" still exists in our vocabulary. Its manifestation has become scarce, its original nature obscured. Leisure today is rushed toward, through, past and entirely missed. We are in a sea of drowning souls panicking, frantically grabbing for safety, pulling any and all rescuers down with them to death and hell. Only there will the hustle and bustle of this world cease even as the land of Israel finally enjoyed its sabbaths once the population was removed into foreign captivity. Go a little faster, busy man. There isn't enough time, not nearly, To do all you would like to do. There are only 70 years in a life, 24 hours in a day; A third of those waste away; Sixty minutes in an hour, Not enough seconds in a minute To accomplish, achieve, attain. Find a faster way, a better way, A short cut to get what you're after. Give less to get more; Get more by giving less. Time is money and money is time. Hear the rhythm of the stamping feet, Tempo speeding, sound increasing, Over the mind to reign. Grab here, run there. Does haste make waste Or does waste make haste? Horde your riches, busy man, Or do you know where they are? Pride is a merciless lord; The Joneses must not get ahead. Bigger and better is the code And the mode and what a load! Grab an upper to keep you going; Take a downer to slow you up. What?! A downer to slow you up? Dare I say it? Wait a minute! A downer to slow you up? ...
We are all in need of help. But is it the noun or the verb we need? Woe is me! How can this be? Where is that help I have sought? Nothing but wretched know-it-alls Come to disturb my thought - and my peace. Peace? What peace? What am I saying? Who am I trying to kid? If this is peace then give me war And I shall rest and sleep and snore. Time passed on and matters grew worse. I soon lost all that I had. My friends had gone their merry old ways, My family too was gone. My business failed, uncertainty prevailed; I slowly began to wrestle with myself For a change. What's this? A knock? A tiny knock? I haven't had a knock since that beggar came by! I wonder who it might be? Eh? A whimper? A sniffing? A sobbing? More trouble! Add fuel to the fire! Is there no rest for the wicked?! I opened the door and there stood a boy, One hand over his eyes and one on his knee, From where trickled blood to my doorstep! Sir! the lad cried with tear-stained face, I stumbled and fell just in front of your place. I have nobody to help me. Are you a doctor or someone to bind my wound? Angered at first at the gory mess, I nearly chased him away. But though I knew I was only a laborer, He had flattered me with his question. Fancy me a doctor!? “Lad, you have saved your knee,” I thought. “Oh, very well, come in, come in. We'll see what to do with your wound.” I bound up his leg and sent him away, Not...