Has come the second third now forth: The moon shall wax before it wanes, Dissolving mountain sins of earth In merciful forgiveness rains. So make the night your begging bowl And fill it with your burning tears To beg redemption for your soul In freedom from despair and fears, That He who loves forgiving may Forgive you just as you forgive; For every self that dies by day Shall neath the white of badr live.
An ajr every fast you keep, An ajr every prayer; In alms you give, and even sleep, There’s ajr everywhere: For all your pleas and tears at night, Your constancy at day, To hear no evil, see no sight, To go no wayward way; Yes, every deed attracts reward, A measure of what’s sown; All but the fast, for that the Lord Will make His pleasure known.
It’s that time of year again When the nights are filled with light Penetrating hearts of men Standing up to pray at night. As the crescent waxes, so Do the mercies from above In their unabated flow: Every mercy steeped in love. Seek all mercies undeterred, But the greatest mercy might Be a supplicating word In the silence of the night.
Of all the things that end of times portend, I think this bears the hardest on my mind: The slain know not the reason for their end And neither does the slayer reason find. I’ve heard some lay the blame on food we eat, While others fault our television time, Or games of hate we endlessly repeat Committing every pixel into crime. Though grave a thing it is to take a life, Be it an act tyrannical or just, Where motive dulls the sheen of bloody knife Or burns the lead that cools the flames of lust, It’s graver when the killer and the killed Are heedless of the killing that was willed. “By Him in whose control is my life, this world will not end until that time does not come to pass in which the murderer will not even bother as to why he murdered and neither will the victim know as to why he is being murdered.”