Poetry of Damian Balassone

Masada, Israel

I, Nebuchadnezzar

1

I, Nebuchadnezzar, looked for magic in works of art,

All the while neglecting the truth inside my heart.

2

I, Nebuchadnezzar, was oblivious to God’s plan,

And proudly thought my kingdom was the work of my own hand.

3

I, Nebuchadnezzar, was laid low by the Lord,

And sentenced to seven years of intellectual discord.

4

I was driven into exile at the sound of Yahweh’s word,

And grew feathers like an eagle and claws like a bird.

5

I ate grass like cattle and was drenched with heaven’s dew,

After seven senseless years my sanity was renewed.

6

And when my mind returned to me, I looked up to the sky,

Glorifying Daniel’s God, praising the Most High.

7

I, Nebuchadnezzar, was restored unto my throne,

And all throughout Babylon my humble heart is known.

The Poet-Prophet-King Wept

The poet-prophet-king wept

when told of his son’s death,

he tore his clothes, and held his heart

and cried with all his breath:

“Absalom, oh, Absalom!

My poor misguided son

who saw glory in my crown

and wished to be the one

to lead Judah into battle,

to acquire the praise of men,

I would gladly give my life

to have you back again.”

The Hour When Darkness Reigns

And when it all finished, the sun disappeared,

and the moon did not emit light,

the stars came tumbling from heaven,

an earthquake rumbled in the night,

the veil of the temple was torn asunder,

a Roman centurion confessed in the thunder.

The Pulpit and the Parapet

Once I stood on the parapet

and sing these songs of praise,

Jeremiah’s Lament for Josiah

Weep for Josiah! He is dead,