Veiled Mystery

From His perspective,

everything begins to shift into place;

yet, all appears as chaos to our eyes.

We are granted only a fraction

of understanding of His master plan;

our comprehension, is like viewing

the back of a tapestry, obscure,

until all is revealed.

© 2023 all rights reserved

dVerse prompt

note t0 reader: poem by Tzvi Fievel

image by Craiyon A.I. image generator

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Something Sublime is Needed

We are determined –

all of us who look to a brighter day –

to see things our way,

instead of submitting

to the King of the World,

Who will give us direction,

capture our attention,

and bring us to our destiny.

We, who strive to create a life,

based on a mix of love and strife,

wanting to change those around us,

by pointing the finger at others,

and blaming the institutions of society.

Yet, disregarding the divine blueprint

of our heritage as a people of faith,

tradition, and the words inscribed

on the two Tablets of Stone

given to Moses on Sinai.

We have lost our way,

as the world in turmoil sways

to and fro, in moral chaos,

while the best of us fret,

and regret what we have not yet done,

to correct ourselves, through tikkun hanefesh,

a rectification of the soul,

with so little time left.

Starseeds

Connect the dots
between your values and emotions,
making a string of your deeds,
in alignment with the seeds
of renewal and rebirth,
storing gems in heaven,
for all to see, like the stars
that light up the nighttime sky.

© 2023 all rights reserved

note to reader: poem by a human being

image by Craiyon A.I. image generator

Shadow Weaver

Only a twenty-minute ferry ride

from Nanaimo, British Columbia,

across the bay to Gabriola Island

– my place of refuge for two months,

2,000 miles away from my former home.

There, amidst the solace of my retreat,

from the challenges of a wayward life,

I sheltered, during the winter,

while my soul had time to rest,

in safety, solitude, and quietude.

—– —– —– —–

Outside the perimeter of Gabriola,

the borders of the world could not infringe

upon my sense of time and place,

far away from the confusion of my past,

in expectation of a new life on the horizon.

And, the tides upon the beach,

watched with the silent eyes

of a New Age refugee,

rolled quietly upon the sands of time,

like my thoughts, amidst the ebb and flow

of my memories, some real, others not –

yet, unknown to me at the time,

that my personal past had been usurped

by a dark web of uncertainty,

spun by the weaver of sheker (falsity),

whose spell had now been broken.

© 2023 all rights reserved

dVerse prompt

Future Relics

Time drifts past this fast-paced world,

being rearranged in front of our very eyes –

no surprise, that the technological innovations

are meant to outlast the nature of humankind,

to the extent that this oblivion,

guided by the technocracy

is meant to supplant the divine plan,

instead of giving heed to the soul’s redemption,

they would rather confine our essence,

by downloading our sense of self

to an android, built to carry an ersatz replica

of the individual, whose “life” is prolonged,

while humans themselves become a relic.

God save us.

poem by a human being

image by A.I. Craiyon Generator

music by Audiomachine

Golden Country

“I will restore My people Israel from captivity.”

– Amos 9:4

Across the generations,

our spirit has been crushed in every nation.

Even now, the Mother of Exiles

is becoming a harlot, like unto Babylon,

leaving us to ponder upon the wisdom of Daniel,

in acknowledgment of our status,

as exiles from the Promised Land.

The dreams of our ancestors,

who looked in hope toward

the distant shoreline of the Goldene Medina,

have been mixed with the alchemy of culture

that threatens to replace the values,

instilled in them by our heritage,

that brought inspiration in the Old Country.

The shift from a common bond,

amongst our own brethren

occurred in front of our very eyes,

as we were disguised from ourselves,

by the lies and factions we upheld,

rather, than honoring our covenantal unity

within the fractured diversity of K’lal Yisrael.

The aftermath

of an overemphasis on gashmiyos,

and a decreasing allegiance to ruchniyos,

coupled with assimilation into the melting pot,

is made visible in the diminishment

of our religious identity,

until the time when our renewal

is at hand.

Moon Shadows

The waxing and the waning of my life, through seasons past, and in anticipation of future journeys yet unknown, has me wondering, as I rest in limbo, while the world turns, where will my soul yearn for, when mountains crumble and seas roar. Only for Jerusalem, the Holy City that stands in stark relief against a background of world events, that spin around the epicenter; and the moon watches over the shadows of the night shifting across the continents.

These transitions, from a full-fledged pandemic to societal transformation; life in Ukraine as usual, shifted overnight into war, with millions of refugees fleeing their homes; the American status quo, undermined by a Woke Revolution; these are all more than the natural ebb and flow of the tides of civilization can bear. From one new moon to another, it is the uncertain nature of the half-moon, in between, that compels us to wonder, what will cause the whole world to careen, with the aftershocks of the next great cataclysm, whether, natural or man-made.

Saving souls from death,

the angels appear on earth,

to gather us home.

dVerse prompt

Bare Earth

This barren landscape of the mind,

where time renews only those who have hope

in the ways of the ancient past

treaded by the sages of ages that still last

for the sake of the preservation of our heritage;

this bare earth, devoid of nourishment

soil, depleted by the wars that have wasted the land,

and the shores of distant beaches,

where the sands of time drift into the sea;

even the biosphere cries out on behalf of the world,

to renew the manifold aspects of creation –

mankind, the task begins with us,

through the renewal of the soul.

Remain Human

A fusing of mind and marrow

with electronic circuits and code,

offers no hope to the human soul,

only a dystopian merger.

Of A.I. and the divine blueprint of life,

these two are not meant to mix and match,

for only by standing in our own integrity,

can we discover our inner purpose.

Consider that we are already being primed,

to think in tandem with artificial thoughts,

generated by chatbots that aid the task

of thinking for ourselves.

It is a slippery slope toward a dystopian future,

wherein we begin to meld into something less human,

alienating ourselves from our essential being,

and causing a rift between our souls and G-d.

note to the reader:

this poem was written by a human, not a ChatBot;

although, the following image was generated by Craiyon A.I. Generator: