by Walt Garlington (February 2026)
–
The man-horde clamors and climbs
The vertiginous heights from within
The terrible tower they have built
In Luciferian madness,
Rising from the cold, Antarctic ice
To pierce the peaceful heavens
And overthrow the Lord of Hosts.
But gusty gales and constant
Human motion, scrambling up dark ladders
And stairs without number,
Cause that tower to sway and tilt.
The men and women grow sick;
Vomit covers steps and rungs;
The stench suffocates
And nauseates
And incapacitates
The climbers. There is falling,
And cracking of bone,
And bursting of brains and bellies.
Yet some, goaded by demons,
Persevere. But as they near
The pinnacle, spattered with gore and filth,
With the fire of phrenzy
Burning in their eyes,
Their work of ingenuity
Betrays them, snaps and breaks,
And crashes to the ground,
Taking from them all the breath of life.
=
Christian man, aghast at the sight,
Builds a different way.
A sound square he sets,
Anchored at four holy points:
The Scottish island of Iona,
Belozersk in northern Russia,
Gelati in rocky Georgia,
And Africa’s Alexandria,
Sites sanctified by the works
Of holy men – Columba,
Monk and missionary;
Kirill, hesychast and pioneer;
David, converter of pagans;
Cyril, vanquisher of heresy,
Holy saints of June the Ninth.
All the world, Africa,
Europe, and Asia,
Is contained therein.
The walls, unseen and impenetrable,
Formed from the pure prayers
And good works of the people,
Rise to majestic height,
But then cease their climb,
And centered above them rests
Not a threatening spire
But a peaceful dome
Held aloft by radiant angels,
Crowned with a Cross,
Gathering all the creation
Together within Its outstretched arms.
Storms will rage, fires will blaze,
Winds will howl, but that building
Will remain secure, unshaken.
And in the pleasant light
And fragrant air within,
The Christians do commune with God,
Meeting Him at the chalice,
At icons, and at prayer,
Preparing for the Apocalypse
That no one can escape,
When the heavens will be rent
And the Last Judgment will commence,
When the permanent City
For which mankind longs
Will descend from Heaven,
All sinful striving end,
And the abode of God
Will be with man forevermore.
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Table of Contents
Walt Garlington was born and raised in that part of Dixieland called Louisiana. A chemical engineer by training, he has spent the last several years writing full-time. He has written essays and poems for The Hayride, New English Review, The Tenth Amendment Center, The Abbeville Institute, Reckonin’, Katehon, Geopolitica, and USA Really. He writes regularly at his own web site, Confiteri: A Southern Perspective.
Follow NER on Twitter @NERIconoclast
