Man has envisioned, concocted, created,  
Built and bought with blood 
A myriad of monuments, an endless, torrential flood 
Of mementos, reminders, convincers of his dominance 
O'er this wretched sphere of mud. 
Indeed, 'tis an abominable, detestable, near unbearable blow 
To his inflated, pompous ego; the unalterable fact, you know, 
That his dominance is limited 
By a pallid thing called death 
With whom he must inevitably go. 
This indomitable thing called human 
Cannot choose concerning birth. 
Not place, not time nor station 
Nor standard by which his worth within the masses 
May be decided when he is sown upon the earth. 
With all his depth and intellect, 
His greatness to display, 
He's but a child 
who's given a set of blocks, some clay... 
A construction set of sorts with which to build, 
To play. 
And yet, he deems himself the master, 
Conqueror over all, 
Reeking in self-esteem; 
Wallowing in a spectral fantasy that he is lord and ruler, 
Emperor supreme. 
Never grasping in his shell of clay 
That he is subject only... 
Far from king. 
In this sad state with obstinate gait he treads  
beneath his feet 
All that's worthy, all that counts, 
all that makes life sweet, 
And stacks his blocks and molds his clay, 
And builds his own retreat. 
He creates, within his fantasies, great monuments. 
And in his dreams 
He erects the latter on marble base,  
And with genius caulks the seams. 
Then he thumbs lapels and boasts and blows 
About the greatness of his schemes. 
And so it is that man the great 
(If such he can be called) 
Sets out to build great cities, 
Polished, paved and walled; 
Laid out neat by block and street 
And buildings, huge and tall. 
Then sits he back in great armchair 
And gloats, and admires his feats, 
And lays at night concocting more between his silken sheets. 
And thus, 
In smug retirement and vain precepts, 
He sleeps.

 


 
'Tis one such man upon the which our story now expounds; 
A man of great achievement, an egotist, 
Whose audacity knew no bounds: 
A man convinced; 
A man to whom mendacious dreams of grandeur made the rounds. 
His aspiration to preponderate was totally unsurpassed. 
He fancied him the greatest, 
And of deed and word,  
The last. 
For this reason he was selected 
By the forces he denied, 
To be de-gassed. 
He was Nehemiah Jones,  
An atheist, 
A firm believer in non-belief 
Who constantly, emphatically asserted 
That man was creator-in-chief 
Who came and went without repent,
And death was a random thief. 
Nehemiah possessed a propensity for surmounting  
The greatest heights, 
Which afforded him an unobstructed view 
Of all the numerous sites 
Upon which stood his colossal feats,
His monuments, 
His delights. 
'Twas a day such as this,  
While he was enthralled with the splendor of mankind, 
That Nehemiah was visited, though totally unaware, 
By a form from the divine; 
A realm to which, as we know, our subject was utterly blind. 
The specter incarnated then 
(In the accepted form of men) 
In Nehemiah's rear 
And embarked upon his heavenly task by emitting guttural sounds 
As if to clear his throat 
And note that Jones was aware of his presence 
'Ere he ventured near. 
But so engrossed was Jones 
In ecstatic admiration of his glorious panorama 
That he did not hear the sounds, 
And thus was oblivious to the drama 
That was destined to change his views and renew his outlook 
On heavenly phenomena. 
So the angel employed bolder tactics 
To make his presence known 
And loudly crushed through the brittle brush 
To the side of Mister Jones 
Upon whom he laid a hand 
Of heavy flesh and bone. 
"Egad!"  Cried Jones. 
And spinning 'round, found the vision’s eyes, 
Not knowing that he looked upon 
An angel in disguise. 
"You startled me!"  He yelled aloud, 
"You took me by surprise!" 
Upon recovering
From the shock  
That he'd received at the stranger's hand, 
Jones glared at him contemptuously, 
And failed to understand how anyone 
Could possess the gall to encroach  
Upon the confines of his land. 
Then he opened up a pompous mouth 
And cocked a vile tongue 
And prepared to lash the stranger with a tirade which,  
When done, 
Would certainly set him on his way 
In a fearful, breakneck run.
But before the first of the vehement curse 
Could be volleyed on its way, 
The stranger lifted an ominous hand which,
Somehow, 
Seemed to stay the onslaught of insults 
That was about to come into play.




 
"I am here," the stranger spoke 
In a sternly commanding tone, 
"To reveal to you a city much greater, 
More magnificent and more splendiferous, Mister Jones, 
Than mankind, throughout eternity, could ever build with stone." 
The statement, 
Thus spoken, 
Bewildered and belittled Nehemiah's mortal brain 
To such an extent he felt it nearly impossible 
To contain the surge of rage within his breast, 
And yet, he managed to refrain. 
For there was a greater compunction consuming the rage within; 
An overpowering urge, 
A compelling desire, 
A yearning to see this city not built by men, 
Which quelled the anger,
Contained the fire, 
And stilled his quivering chin.




 
Then a finger of the upraised hand of the stranger 
Made a gesture 
Which imposed upon Nehemiah 
A desire to follow this intruder in alien vesture, 
Though his beleaguered brain 
Was churning with apprehension and implacable conjecture. 
But as Nehemiah ventured motivation 
He was beset by consternation. 
His feet, he found, had left the ground, 
Which caused great aggravation to his already entangled mind, 
So he deemed it his imagination. 
But the sights and sounds encountered,
He found, 
Called for amendment to this conclusion. 
Though reason bore no confirmation, 
He was certain 'twas no delusion. 
So he threw his arms across his eyes 
And relented to total confusion. 
In a fleeting instant, 
Though it seemed to Nehemiah to have been hours,  
His feet touched down on earth once more 
In a field of swaying flowers whose colors
Brightened the purplest depths
Of the most profuse of oaken bowers. 
A moment passed 'ere Jones regained composure in his plight 
And recalled the promise given 
Of the most magnificent sight of a city  
Of stupendous magnitude, 
And recalling, he bolted upright. 
He looked to the north and glanced to the south, 
And scanned the east and west. 
He scoured the valleys and searched the hills 
And peered as a man possessed. 
Then he faced his companion
With hands on his hips, 
And mouthed a violent protest. 
"You've not been duped," the angel spoke, 
Perceiving Jones' innermost thought.  
"The city's here...
'Tis how to look, and thus to see,
You've not been taught. 
And for this reason, and for this cause 
To this place you've been brought." 
"Your mind's awry, Nehemiah, and your values 
Are ignorantly misplaced. 
You deny the worth of the precious,
And your arrogance 
Is a total disgrace.  
You worship that which is worthless, 
You're a smudge on humanity's face." 
With these harsh words, the stranger  
Thrust a finger t'ward the ground 
And bade Nehemiah genuflect, 
And made him to sit down and look beyond the pointed finger 
To a tiny earthen mound.