Warring Upon Grace

by Romain P. A. Delpeuch (June 2021)

Shippan Point, Twilight, Helen Frankenthaler, 1980


Millennia passed. Yet long before a tear
in grief was shed, the Highest Name, as who
langsyne did know and set for all the doom
last days would suffer both on land and sea,
invited souls through paths like radii,
eager to have them from exile return,
back to their central core beyond the gap
of ignorance—through humble prayer and plea,
by bending will, and bowing of the head
before Its bounty in nature galore.
Yet none of them could see, and none could tell
(but the elect) the holy signs from deep
reflected shadows of repressed desire.
Of course, they erred, just like their father Esau.
What goes around around will come: the arc,
nigh to the end, will meet the Source. And, through
revealed identity, will end the thralldom,
one way or other. Favor amor fati.
May it a solace be for those who crawl
along the dismal roads that lead the soul
inside its private hell: meanders I
neither accept nor follow nor reprove.
Perverse and devious are my ways. Don’t curb
a fierce and spiritual ambition. Do
deliver words and visions from the Verb
eternal: seize them, drag them for the orb
lawless and lapsed to see to its dismay.
Perhaps you’ll take advantage of the ebb,
enchanting, easy song. I’d rather war
until I reach the realms where I forego
capricious tricks of worldly undertow:
heavenly shelters where I’ll rest from squalid men.


Misgiving souls will soar.
In time, the nocent, too—
lest earth be weighed with qualm,
lest chagrin fill the sea.

I perfected ways imagined by the Magi,
endless dreamers, stardust gazers, all my kinsmen.
Balaam, ancient forebear, curser scorning worship,
once he said the words, he tore to shreds his aura.

Before he raised his head,
before You set him free,
You called and made him fall
beneath the wall of sleep.

Rise not, father: earth and dirt, and dust instructive
ought to teach us humbler views than sine metu.
Weave our visions secretly, in scenes ecstatic,
neither pure nor only good, as they’re in da’ath


Table of Contents


Romain P. A. Delpeuch was born and bred in south-west France where he still lives.

Follow NER on Twitter @NERIconoclast


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

New English Review Press is a priceless cultural institution.
                              — Bruce Bawer

Order here or wherever books are sold.

The perfect gift for the history lover in your life. Order on Amazon US, Amazon UK or wherever books are sold.

Order on Amazon, Amazon UK, or wherever books are sold.

Order on Amazon, Amazon UK or wherever books are sold.

Order on Amazon or Amazon UK or wherever books are sold

Order at Amazon, Amazon UK, or wherever books are sold. 

Order at Amazon US, Amazon UK or wherever books are sold.

Available at Amazon US, Amazon UK or wherever books are sold.

Send this to a friend