When we, on the balance, are put for sure, <br />Precariously placed, before Truth's door: <br />The throne, above, in celestial dew, <br />The waste-land, beneath, a cold greying hue; <br />Carolling angels, rejoicing in prise, <br />Hungry mortals, ever consuming haze: <br />Each mote of thought, each waking emotion, <br />Each selfless deed, that silenced commotion, <br />And from the body's source, truth redifined <br />Through filter beds of thought, that action signed; <br />Shall, with the blind ego's, driven striving, <br />That hears not the cry of others riving, <br />Feels not the pain, of pities illusion, <br />The wondrous joy, of loves's great delusion; <br />Be split asunder, on fine scales be weighed; <br />For all to judge, angels, man, beast and maid: <br />And, if we, in truth, on balance incline, <br />Our matter included, through death's decine; <br />Then even Michael, standing with his sword, <br />The accusing angels, Satan, their Lord, <br />Can not, the Highest Wisdom's scales o'turn, <br />But must creation grant, so all can learn. <br /> <br />In life we act this play, as if it's real: <br />With the curtain crash, it sets with a seal.<br /><br />David Levitas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-judgement-of-creation-2000/
