Babel's Façade

Self-truths fornicate quip pro quo, Love drunk prose–––dip, blot, stroke.

Anonymous Flemish artist, The Construction of the Tower of Babel (16th century). Oil on canvas.

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Is concrete not the beast of old?
Counterfeit crowns devour Eden’s mounds, 
Sanctuary stones now skyscraper thrones, 
Concrete horizon, blindness binds them,
Hardened façade: There is no God! 
Statued souls——cracked, damp, cold.

Is plastic not the priest of Ba'al?
The blessed reap spoil from its anointing oil, 
Shopping malls supersede cathedral halls, 
Our back pockets hold the temple’s gold, 
Idols back wall the altar call, 
Avarice tithe——swipe, tap, sold. 

Is ink not the blood of the saints? 
Silver tongues intoxicate, black-and-white faint, 
Vain folk transubstantiate tabloid paint, 
Spirits inundate blasphemous woes, 
Self-truths fornicate quip pro quo, 
Love drunk prose——dip, blot, stroke. 

Is pride not the brick of Babel?
The great harlot sways atop ivory tower,
Idolatrous power plays every hand, every hour;
every scroll, every tap, staring down to Sheol,
‘Don’t look up!’ She says, ‘stare into my soul,
into my light, And don’t let go.’——swipe, tap, scroll.

One mind delusion, one tongue confusion.
Pentecost feigns, Antichrist reigns.
Babel's façade: I am God! 

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Matlock Bobechko | June 11, 2017 – 9:00 AM EST

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