The Soul’s Beloved

L-rd, you safeguarded my soul,

even in the midst of the darkness

that seemed to consume my life,

at the time when all was lost.

Draw your servant out of the darkness,

and into the light of your sacred intentions,

that I may know what Your design is

for my soul to flourish in this world,

and the World-to-Come.

Rescue me from the fire and ice,

so that I may be free to breathe fresh air,

unhindered by the mire,

where I had previously sunk.

That every day may be

an opportunity for renewal,

as I climb higher on the divine ladder,

between Earth and Heaven.


Ancient dreams careen

when we view things unseen

to the unaided eye,

living before the beginning of time

as we now reckon the days.


searching for something new,

constantly gravitating towards

what is novel, yet transient

as all earthly pleasures are.

Yet, beyond this road paved with glitter,

and littered with the empty wrappers

of fleeting moments, is a Way –

stamped with the approval of Heaven,

lit by the light shining down from Above.

If we are not yearning

for something that is of lasting value,

then everything we experience

will drift away into the ether,

and fall back to earth as rain,

the ever present pouring down

of heavenly tears.

Existential Limits

Like a sentinel,

the white rook sits in the corner,

defending the border territory.

Shall I give up that vantage point,

for the sake of a tighter defense?

Limited possibilities

teach me the virtue of humility,

while, reflecting in a parallel manner

upon my own existence,

I recognize my own limitations,

as a member of humankind.

And, this is what makes us human,

to know that we have free will,

within the framework of a finite being,

subject to nature and nurture,

circumstances and challenges,

all of which can be transcended

by effort, character, and merit.

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dVerse prompt


Biding my time,
finding my way,
seeking the sublime,
en route to a brighter day.

Looking toward caelum,
in expectation of Moshiach,
Who from the angelic realm,
descends to avail us.

Awaiting the final hour,
when the veil will be lifted,
let our faces not be dour,
for we have truly been gifted.

And, if compelled to do more,
than gazing heavenward,
let us guard the days of yore,
with the intention to one day soar.

For only then, at that time,
will our dreams be realized;
everything concealed will finally be
revealed as we rise into the sky.

Thoughts in Collision

Two patterns of thought, collide with each other;

the first is redefined by the second, in totale,

digesting, and absorbing its nutrients, until absolved

of its contradictions, ready to be transformed once more.

As this progressive alteration of the original continues,

the main themes remain, while the corollaries are transmuted,

reshaped for the sake of channeling theory into praxis.

Thus, the Hegelian dynamic of the Spirit,

working via the dialectic, reshaping history,

was recalibrated by Marx as dialectical materialism,

a historical process stripped bare of any spiritual component.

When his worldview failed to replicate itself in Europe,

(although, it was successful at consuming both Russia and China),

the intellectuals who had swallowed the bitter pill, and found it sweet,

sought to reframe the overall design, making it more palatable to the West.

By way of the machinations of the neoMarxists at the Frankfort School,

a monster was tamed, enough to appear acceptable

within the confines of its cultural makeover,

giving rise to the birth of cultural Marxism;

and its progeny branched out like fractals, within American society,

as each imitation of the whole, began to engulf adherents,

both idealogues, and what Lenin derogatively referred to as “useful idiots.”

The amalgamation became so complete,

that today, the reborn pattern that appears to be whole,

can only be recognized as Marxism, by the sum of its parts,

when the eye of the beholder will steadfastly take the opportunity

to closely examine the varied dimensions of the renamed monstrosity,

that has crisscrossed across the land, weaving a complex tapestry

of interrelated forms of cultural transformation and moral decline,

conveniently packaged as liberating acts of social justice.

Hence, the proliferation of Wokism continues,

in the wake of its former manifestations.

dVerse prompt

Visions of Hope

When the past disappears into the future,

the present is at stake, for the past is nearly forgotten;

and, the future of the world is only held together by a thread,

woven throughout the tapestry of the ages.

The axis of the earth cannot hold steady,

under the pressure of the decrees made from heaven;

as the angels standby on alert for their rescue mission,

preparing to place a seal on all who will remain steadfast.

Carry us away, to the distant land of our dreams,

the places in our minds, given to us in visions;

steeped in Your words, as we watch prophecy unfold,

we remain ready to step into the light of Your countenance.

Carry us away, upon the wings of Your angels,

lift us up above our fears, and bring us home;

to the place where we have always longed for,

the place where we truly belong.

Where the angels roam within the recesses of Your courts

and frequent the corridors of Your palatial buildings;

home, wherein we will find solace for our souls,

bathed in the light of eternity, emanating from Your Temple.

Eleventh Hour

Testing area, proving ground, ultrasound,

revealing the difference between ourselves,

and who we will become in a world unbound.

As humankind approaches the final page,

in the Book of Life recorded by the Sage,

and heard by all who climb the divine ladder,

G-d will guide us along the way to freedom,

while encouraging us to not stand idle,

as the lies of man are piled high as the sky,

darkly looming over the earth’s populace;

our redemption arrives at the break of dawn.

dVerse prompt


I recently happened to hear,

a voice adrift in the far corner

of the cyberspace world,

hidden in the remote regions

of an otherwise unknown facet

0f the internet, remotely resembling

a familiar sounding pattern of speech –

it was my own.


the inevitable has occurred,

a blurring of the boundaries

between man and machine,

a fusion of the realms

of consciousness and A.I.;

or, I have simply been spending

too much time in front the screen.

Yet, there has been a certain

sort of consolation, knowing,

I can always turn toward my pc

as a portal into a world

that is at once, outside

of my immediate surroundings,

and, yet, inside of my private space,

namely, my place of residence,

that has served as a cave of refuge,

and a sacred sanctuary,

for my weary soul.

For the song that inspired this poem click here.

For the full range of possibilities, and complete gamut of material that I have been able to accomplish while sitting in front of the screen, click here.

alternate version of song, click here.