Shining tower, rising high
to the very house of god.
Ivory white in mythical hue,
there is none it hasn’t awed.
Stone upon stone in herculean travail,
built in Shinar the land,
tower high of but one tongue,
rising high, like statue stands.
Cast down by the one above,
knowing it had reached too high,
like Lucifer’s striving dispelled
by the king of the sky.
For to reach to god’s very height
and strive to be above
is but a force of hubris bold
and not of tow’ring love.
But Babel: had it reached the sky
and not cascaded down,
the people would have been as gods,
no longer to give god renown.
There is a problem in this.
What’s that? you ask. What’s amiss?
The matter, I say, is one of place,
for all things under the sun.
We are all prized beings,
and also god is one.
Thus there should be a place for all under the sun.
In this world it’s true, I think,
that all deserve a part.
So as I unto my own self do,
so unto others, from my heart.
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