1When all the men of Gilead
Came falling to their bane,
The people prayed, their good hearts strayed,
But all of it was vain.
As the flame consumed their hearts,
And death approached them all,
Each and every wayward sentry
In faithlessness did fall.
Their eyes were black, their souls were slack,
Each death was a cursing,
And thus they fell into their Hell,
Cast by their own musings.
The world went on, claim ash, claim dawn,
In faith of Heaven's calling,
But all the while, the growing pile
Of falsehoods brought falling.
And then they ask, when all is lost,
The question that once flourished,
That made the chaste to sin in haste,
That which they have nourished.
It is the question posed by he
Who, wrought by Nevermore,
Asked, "Is there balm in Gilead?"
There is none anymore.
And never now will there here be
Such governance of fate,
For it was balm which wrought the psalm
Of holiness albeit.
8/5/04