A Note from the Poet

Dear Reader,

I have not written these lines to amuse, nor to provoke idle debate. I have written them because the Spirit of the age grows thick with the very abominations Paul set forth in the first chapter of Romans, and the time for polite silence has passed.

We live in the open fulfillment of that dread indictment: a world that has deliberately cast God from its knowledge, and in return has been given over to a reprobate mind. What was once hidden in the shadows now parades in daylight, clothed in the garments of pride and celebrated with thunderous applause. Vice is no longer ashamed — it demands affirmation. Truth is no longer silenced — it is hunted.

This poem is a lamentation and a warning. It does not rejoice in the darkness, but it will not lie about it. If the words burn, it is because the reality they describe is already burning.

May the same God who gave men over to reprobation also grant them grace to repent, before the cup of wrath overflows and the final accounting begins.

In solemn witness,
The Poet

O Earth, defiled! O blind and reeling sphere,
Where once the Eternal stamped His image clear,
Now men have flung the knowledge of their God
Like refuse to the dogs, and in its stead
Have crowned the Abyss. Therefore the Almighty Hand
Hath loosed the reins: He gives them o’er, He gives!
To reprobate minds, to furnaces of night,
Where every spark of rectitude is quenched.

Behold the plague! Unrighteousness runs black
As pitch through every vein of mortal kind.
Fornication struts naked in the streets,
Crowned queen, and calls her filthiness delight.
Wickedness laughs from thrones of stolen gold;
Covetousness gnaws the bones of nations whole;
Malice, with serpent tongue, whispers and smiles;
Envy, green-eyed, devours her own brood.

Murder walks masked in robes of policy,
Debate is endless war with words for blades,
Deceit hath built her temples out of lies,
And malignity suckles at the breast
Of every infant soul. Whisperers swarm
Like flies on carrion; backbiters flay alive
The reputations of the upright few.
Haters of God lift high their brazen horns,
Proud boasters thunder, “We are gods ourselves!”
Inventors of all evil, ever new,
Disobedient spawn who trample hoary heads,
Without a drop of natural affection left—
Implacable as stone, unmerciful as

Hell.No understanding dwells within their skulls,
No covenant holds, no mercy tempers wrath.
They know—yes, they know—the judgment of the Lord,
That death is wages earned by such as these,
Yet not content with ruin of their own,
They clap, they cheer, they crown the very worst,
They celebrate the monster and the whore,
They feast upon the corpse of dying truth
And call the banquet progress, liberty, light.

This is our hour. Reprobate minds abound,
They rule the councils, they infest the schools,
They poison every fountain of the young,
They strut upon the stages, leer from screens,
They legislate abominations bold
And punish those who name them what they are.
The whole world groans beneath the iron yoke
Of minds delivered up to vomit filth
And call it freedom, minds that love the dark
More dearly than the soul that made the stars.

O dreadful spectacle! O terminal age!
Where good is crucified afresh each dawn,
Where evil wears the purple and the crown,
Where conscience is a relic, mercy weak,
And man, once little lower than the gods,
Crawls lower than the beasts that perish not.

Yet tremble, tyrants of the reprobate heart—
The Judge hath marked the measure of your days.
The cup of wrath is filling, drop by drop,
With every boast, with every shameless rite.
Repent or perish. Turn ye, turn ye now,
Before the heavens crack, before the fire
Consumes the stubble of your vaunted pride,
And leaves behind but ashes and His Name.

This age is Romans One made visible—
The wrath of God revealed from heaven plain
Against all who hold truth in unrighteousness.
Reprobate minds are everywhere.
And hell applauds.