>> 9/03/06: After a long absence I have returned from the depths of Sheol (or wherever it was I was hanging out) and UPDATED! <<

Who am I? Most of you can already give me a name...whether it's the one my parents gave me, or some nasty foul one you've made up for yourselves is (of course) up to you. For everybody else, I'm just the The Sophist Next Door.

So why a website? To disseminate my store of archaic medieval artwork! On this site you'll find my celtic knots, medieval-style poetry, and some other random stuff thrown in the mix (yes, I know sonnets aren't medieval - I apologize).

So...this site's yours to roam and adore / ridicule at your pleasure...cheers!

DISCLAIMER:

If you find this website painful, I apologize in the truest sense of the term (namely, I'll argue with you over why you found it painful). I probably won't win.

If you like this website, I'll apologize even harder. And I might even pull off a stunning victory of self-depreciation.

If you really could care less about all this highfalutin' junk (archaic poetry and celtic what?) I could really care less about arguing about it with you. But I'll probably end up doing it anyway.

* * *

The Infinite

Infinite you sit in endless halls,
Casting your eye upon countless beings
And working your will in the ways of man.
Of what consequence are we who crawl below
In the mire and dust? Majesty is yours
And ours is but to eagerly chase
The hem of your robe till hell claim us.
Our lives are short, our love false,
Our knowledge lies, our need unmet.
We are lost from you, loving like fools
The only thing left: our world.
And what gain have we? Groans of pain
And endless remorse! Infinite mystery
For finite mind. What friend has man?

When lost from life you loved us still,
And doomed your son to death and pain
For what? A people wan and pale,
A kindred blighted with a curse of sin!
The men who hated, mauled and killed
Their savior good. You saved them still!

A stuttering fool I stand ashamed,
Naked, uncovered, in your knowing sight.
Yet I stand tall, safe in the thought--
The certain truth--that stupid as I am,
Full of filth and foul deceit,
I need not fear, for near to me
Stands one who bore my sin himself.

O wretched man, to wear the blame
Of causing the death of Christ my Lord!
But blessed, too, I bear no shame,
For He rose to raise me to righteous halls
And sit by him, saved forever from sin.

An infinite God, endlessly just,
Filled with love and overflowing with mercy!
Holy beyond the hosts of angels,
Higher than the stars, Heaven's glory!
Close to us, a kindred in darkness;
Saving from death his sanctified people.
Sing you all, sons of man,
The glories of his hand, our God most high!