A Note from the Poet

Dear Reader,

These words were written with trembling hands and a heavy heart. In the spirit of Esther and Mordecai, this poem gives voice to a people once more standing beneath gallows raised by those who seek their total destruction. The demonic Muslim-led regime in Iran is a present terror, boasting annihilation while the world often turns away.

Yet I write with unshaken hope: the same Jesus who cast out demons, who broke the power of hell, and who rose victorious over every dark throne still reigns. His authority is greater than any serpent, any regime, any blood-red crescent. Even if deliverance tarries, the Lion of Judah — Jesus the Messiah — will have the final word. The night may devour for a season, but it cannot overcome the One who has already conquered sin, death, and every demonic force.

Pray with the remnant. Fast and cry out. Jesus holds the scroll of history and the keys of hell itself.

With solemn hope anchored in Christ,

The Poet

In shadowed chambers where the gallows loom,

The seed of Esther and Mordecai arise.

Beneath a tyrant’s blood-red crescent moon,

They lift their prayers against demonic skies.

Haman’s heirs in tunnels dark and deep,

With rocket’s shriek and suicide’s embrace,

Have sworn the ancient covenant to break

And blot out Jacob’s name from every place.

Yet sackcloth hearts in hidden rooms still fast,

Mothers, children, elders on their knees;

Their whispered pleas through tear and smoke ascend—

For if deliverance delays, what tragedy?

If freedom tarries, demonic horror reigns:

The serpent’s spawn will feast on blood and bone,

Cities turned to ash, the innocent slain,

A Holocaust renewed beneath their throne.

Mordecai still paces sleepless walls,

Esther dons her royal robes of faith;

“No accident this terror’s bitter hour—

For such a time as this,” the Spirit saith.

The serpent regime coils with poison breath,

Boasting death from Gaza’s pits to Tehran’s throne;

Yet Heaven’s ledger may still turn—or not—

The God of Purim sits upon His own.

O remnant of the Star and Shield, hold fast!

The dice of Haman roll across the land,

We do not know if freedom comes at last,

Or if the night devours us—yet defines us where we stand.

Sing, O Israel, though the night is long,

The scroll of Esther burns within your veins;

Each tefillah a hammer on the strong,

Each Shabbat candle breaks what darkness gains.

The Lion of Judah stirs—yet may stay still,

His roar withheld behind the veil of flame;

What man devised for evil, God alone will will—

Reversal dawns… or else the darkness claims.

From crimson banners torn and gallows built,

The wicked laugh upon the swords they drew;

Devoured or delivered, this trial defines us through and through—

We do not know if freedom comes… yet still we cry, O God, turn the plot… or we die.

**O Jesus, turn the plot—our hope is in Your might!**