Which Mountain?


There is a mount

Of your own building

With sacred trees

And groves to quench your lust

And whorish priests

Who span the globe for pleasure

Baubles, new trends

Void of help

Their shining gone to rust.

My Holy Mount

Is quite a different matter

Where lurid schemes of men

Look sadly small.

And I the High and Mighty

Lifted gladly

By humble and contrite hearts

Seemingly unlovely

Worth my all.

(Isaiah 57)

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Married and father of two. Living in Waterloo, Ontario. Workplace health and safety professional. Blogger. Poet. Nature hiker. History buff. Inspirational writer. Newsboy for Jesus.

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