Isaiah 17

"See, Damascus will cease as a city,
and become a mere ruinous heap.
Towns of Aroer will be deserted,
and be naught but a place full of sheep,
that will graze and lay down, undisturbed,
for they're fearless nor are they perturbed.

​"And, destroyed will be Ephraim's fortress,
and the power Damascus had shown.
The survivors and remnant of Aram
share the same fate that Israel's known;
both had glory, yet neither were spared,"
so, the LORD of the armies declared.

"In that day, Jacob's glory grows dimmer;
and the fat of his flesh will grow lean.
As the reaper has gathered the harvest,
and the grain in the field is picked clean.
Like one gleaning the corn for great yields
in the Valley of Rephaim's fields.

"Yet some gleanings remain after harvest,
shake the tree -- still a few will survive;
two or three in the uppermost branches,
while a good bough may hold four or five.
Like these olives, a few will be spared,"
so, Jehovah, the Lord God, declared.

In that day, man will look to his Maker,
to the Holy One of Israel.
He will no longer look to his altars,
nor the things made with his hands, as well;
disregarding what his fingers made,
even altars where incense in laid.

In that day, their strong cities will empty,
like a forest, abandoned and bare,
in the heights of the summits and hilltops,
where it's hard to grow anything there.
Land that they had abandoned, in haste,
to the Israelites -- now it's a waste.

You've forgotten your God of salvation;
you've left your Rock and fortress behind.
You may plant foreign, exotic flowers,
and import the most priceless of vines;
they may bud that first day in the dirt,
but you'll only reap sorrow and hurt.

Listen! Armies of nations are raging,
like the roar of the sea, they behave.
How they clamor and rumble and thunder
like the crash of a sea's angry wave.
Though they crash like the billows at sea,
he'll rebuke them, and they will all flee.

They will flee like chaff blown in the mountains,
and like dust that is thrown at a gale.
In the evening, there's nothing but terror!
But by morning, success will prevail!
Behold! This is the fate of my foes,
and their portion and lot God bestows.

This poem was a finalist in the July 2024 poetry contest