Ayalon

Oh, how I long for your lands, Ayalon,
with your long, open fields, and your deep forests, wide,
and your deep lakes and hills from which no man has drawn,
and your mountains so high they might kiss the crisp sky.

There—nothing is suffering—like Eden,
and the ancient wisdoms, here and gone, are constant.
The Divine light is everything there without sin,
and the life we live here to them there’s but a pant.

For the one soul of God is an unending glance.
There the rivers and lakes sound of only God’s light.
Here the dirt born man takes his arms in his stance
against god, and he dies in the glance of His might.

Then the Child of Man come and pluck all the souls
from the dirt from the mud, of the poor, of the gold,
and bring to them God, and will waive all their woes
as the rivers of Ayalon flow further bold.

Then the animals there, sinless in their nature,
filled with Joy, filled with Love, filled with God will go here
and lead good men to Paradise with guidance so pure,
but the bad men will stay, and then them they will fear.

But the lands of our Ayalon, never corrupt
will stay standing on Earth, kissing the face of God,
as a man born from dust will be made again corrupt,
and the woman born from bone will then Eden disrupt.