The Burning Bush

No Burning Bush

There ain’t no burning bush, no beckoning pillar of fire,
No Angels to stop your hand, when you use a tire iron in your ire.

You and only you, are responsible for the deeds you do.
Though you whine and cavail, they will be to no avail.

For there ain’t nobody else, to come to your pitiful aid,
when you’ve lived a life diseased, and behaved like a cruel and brutal nave.

G*d might speak to you and me, but you covered your own ears.

And when you get dragged down to hell, the path will be greased with your own tears.

There ain’t no burning fire to light your way, no pillar of smoke by day.

For you treated the light as a sign, that you were favored in your crimes.

And you saw the burning pillar of smoke, and recreated it on your enemies.

To loot, and defraud and steal. And enslave those who asked your help.

There ain’t no burning Bush, no beckoning pillar of fire.

If you are too blind to see the light, and too deluded to clean the mire.

If you blow filth and hate and smoke, it will be only you who will come to choke.

If you hate and fear and loathe, others will loathe you in return.

When the darkness consumes you in degrees, your own curses will come back to you.

For a life of greed and hate and disease, dooms the hater to greater suffering.

There ain’t no burning bush, except the one you used to light your cross.
And what makes the fire burn brighter, are the sheets you wore when you burned your own brother.

Learn what fires the lights in hell, and creates the burning smell,

Are the actions we do on this earth, and how we treat orphans and widows.

For you seal your fate in life when you doom yourself with strife.

And your ruin your world with violence, and impoverish it with your corruption.

And the things you preach for others, will come back to you in spades.
And when they throw dirt on your coffin, you’ll wail and beg and pray,

But all the judgment upon you, is what you made on this very day.

There ain’t no burning bush, no beckoning pillar of fire.

When the darkness consumes you as well, you preach your own hell.

For words of angry hate will only come back on you. And the rapture that you seek.
If it comes will take the innocent, and you will be left behind.

Oh, I hear the voices of the wounded and dead, and know that they’ll drag you away.

For only the ineffable lord, has the right to make us pay.
When you are laid to your rest, and your head goes to Sheol.
Your torture will be the children on earth who play,
And your inability to enjoy a sunny day.

You can stand upon that dais. And shout your hate to the world.
But I wish you’d shout your love to the women and children,

And look out for the stranger and your brother.

For there ain’t no burning bush, no beckoning pillar of fire.

But there is a voice whispering to all of us,

We must do right by one another.

Christopher H. Holte

This is part of a series of poems with the same refrain and theme that date back to at least the 80's (maybe 70's).