THE FAILURE AND THE SENTENCE

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Rise of the Fall)

The failure rests in Judas’ silver purse.

The sentence – within Pilate’s washing bowl.

And every ugly, calculated curse

Wears Holy Grace to mask its dirty soul.

The business goes on quietly and well.

There are as many traders as you please,

Even when beggars inside sighs must dwell

For small coins from the dressed-up corpse to tease.

No one will scare them with a whip of cords.

The stalls are piled up, endless in their line…

And silver pieces, like the Blood of Lords,

Ring with their furious pirouette divine.

Foul is the swamp, filled up and overflowing,

Adorned with labels like an "Eden" space.

A class, so gospel-wealthy in their showing,

Foresees their God from fatness in its place…

In an idyll, beloved by the crowd,

Both shepherds and the flocks are blessed and free.

But in the realm where fast cash makes them proud,

The Evil bodeful shapes the catastrophe.

Both dogma and doctrine clank with heavy chains.

From pulpits, moldy words begin to fall.

The true sin stays where Mary Magdalene reigns,

And not inside that Judas' gut and all…

Christ’s people, cast away with exiled fate,

Wander their hell in sackcloth, cold and sad.

The failure rests in Judas’ silver purse.

The sentence – within Pilate’s washing bowl.

THE FINAL VESUVIUS

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Rise of the Fall)

Vesuvius roars and swells in size

Amidst the clouds of sulfurous breath.

The boiling lava starts to rise

Deep in the mountain’s vaults of death.

Below the volcano's dark dome,

The crowds, abandoned to their sin,

Hear not the threat above their home,

Nor fear the Lord who looks within.

They raise the golden calves to view

In their abominable bow,

And in vain noise, accursed too,

To Mammon they give glory now.

Beside them – with iron spears ahead –

The earthly beasts rejoice and cry,

And rage from hell’s abysses fed

Calls them for bloody fights nearby.

Throughout the vale – the chaff is found,

All gathered up in bundles high.

Vesuvius roars above the ground,

Above the Earth's foul corpse nearby.

It roars. And soon it will explode

With its merciless, angry blast.

And doom will strike the evil road

When that fierce blast erupts at last.

For now, when reaching out to save,

A hand of Mercy and Love appears,

They beat the pure ones with a stave,

And throw the faithful to their tears.

Alas, to Justice they are blind,

Captured by giants of the night.

The thorn and greedy burdock bind

Below the peak of blinding might.

“Depart from Me, you cursed race!” –

They’ll hear from a Voice so grand.

And everyone will feel fire's place,

With judgment in their hour at hand.

And sealed by lava's heavy state,

Ready to turn them into stone,

They will recall their earthly fate

And all their empty days alone.

But I pray Thee! Heal and save,

O Lord, the sinful souls in fright!

For if You thunder like Vesuvius’ wave,

The dark won't soothe them in the night…

THE ULTIMATE BANDIT

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Rise of the Fall)

Do not look on with angry eyes

At the elite that knows no law.

All other bandits shrink in size

Before the master bandit's claw.

No mortal flesh can push his space,

No speeding bullet pierces through.

He acts from his dark, evil place,

Upon a throne of crime anew.

Within his hand, the kings are pawns.

All wars are earthly vanity.

He snaps humanity like thorns

When driving them to death's decree.

Dressed in a mantle of deceit,

He has a grand repertoire to show.

As Temple angel, pure and sweet,

Or spins just like a die below.

With power held through thousand years,

He builds his pressure on our clay.

He rules with armies full of jeers

To throw all human souls away.

He purchases consciences and thrones.

He trades in secrets of deep sin.

He plays foul parts in filthy zones

And calls himself a saint within.

But in his nature there remains

A ultimate weakness, a fierce dread,

For he's a snake in fragile chains,

Once Jesus' Holy Name is said…

And when the Sword strikes through his space,

Polished with Justice – Sacred, bright,

He falls upon his knees in disgrace,

Just like a rag, stripped of his might.

And let the Faithful know and see

That God has sent the Spirit's Gift,

From Which in darkness weeps in knee

The beast accursed, with no uplift.

All other bandits shrink in size

Before the master bandit's claw,

But Holiness stands past the skies,

And there's a Sword of fearsome law.

If you swing it with Faith in Christ,

You pierce the gloom and shadows gray,

And like a shadow sacrificed,

The bandit Satan fades away.

PARABLE OF THE TREES

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Rise of the Fall)

The trees assembled once into the wood.

They wished to have a king to rule their space.

The most majestic near and far he stood,

Whose name would be praised high in every place.

“Come, Fig Tree, come! Become our reigning king!

For there is none like you inside our land.

Your sweet, rich fruit will soothe the grief we bring.

You are the greatest, worthy to command.”

“I shall not leave my juicy, tender fruit!” –

The Fig Tree answered to the crowded wood.

“To serve and give is Life in my pursuit,

But earthly power revolts me where I stood.”

“Come, Olive Tree! Reign high above our ground!

Where can we find another like your form?

Within your Holy Oil a ray is found!

From North to South your value keeps us warm!”

“I will not rule with berries from my branch!” –

The Olive answered with a Holy grace.

“One God bestows the Light that none can quench!

Without Him, there's no Meaning in this place!”

“Come, sunny Vine, and reign above our space!

And let the wine into our cups be poured!

Become our queen with boundless power and grace,

The woods will pride in thrones you can afford!”

“I would not hold my grapes inside the clay!” –

The Vine had told them with a charming voice.

“Not every wine creates a vain display,

But passions look for ends by their own choice.”

The trees then withered in a nightmare deep.

Above them, no one wished to rule or reign.

Where could they find a master they could keep,

Whose mortal price would not be spent in vain...

They found him... Bramble! Thorny unto death!

In swarms of restless, wild mosquitoes bound.

Sucking up poisons with a mole’s dark breath,

Scratching and piercing everyone around.

“Come, terrifying one! Become our king!

Piercing us with your ominous, sharp thorn!

The voice of every creature cries to spring!

We pray you, Bramble, rule us from this morn!

In this sly world become our earthly share,

Until our clay within the dust decays!

For this is our last state and grim despair –

That you’re in us, and we are in your ways...”

PARABLE OF THE KIND MAN AND THE SNAKE

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Rise of the Fall)

A kind man walked the forest floor,

A dying snake he chanced to see.

A swelling on its head it bore,

Which woke his deepest sympathy.

“Oh, let me take this wounded thing

Into my home and tend its grief,

For to all lives that breathe and spring

My troubled soul would bring relief.

With healing herbs and potions rare

I’ll cure the snake and ease its pain,

And we shall be a friendly pair…” –

The naive man resolved in vain.

He put it in his bag with care

And brought it home to heal its skin.

A month went by, and then and there

The snake grew swift and bright within.

The kind man rejoiced. “Behold,

I brought this creature back to live!

And every blessing, new or old,

Returns with fruit that it can give.

And this happy little living thing

Begins to crawl and move with glee.

It coils tightly like a ring

And brings out tears of joy in me…”

Thus spoke the man with open mind,

Succeeded in his deeds so bright.

He stroked the creature – soft and kind,

For it was his companion quite.

He laid it in a bed of bran,

And then he went to sleep and rest,

But soon the snake's dark pupils ran

With burning fury in its breast.

And so the snake with filthy spite

Bit the kind man without remorse.

He woke up late into the night…

Numbed by the pain along his course.

“Tell me, O cruel creature, why

Did you just bite me in my bed?

Did I not heal you, standing by,

With goodness that my hands have shed?

Why do you punish me with death,

To leave this life alone and cold?

Did you rise from the pit beneath

Of that dark spirit from of old?”

“My nature is accursed and vile!” –

The creature hissed into the space.

“Of all the beasts that crawl the wild

To me belongs the foul disgrace.

Great mercy you have shown to me,

But I have bit you in my pride.

This is your tragic destiny,

For there is nothing on our side…”

The kind man died in spasm sharp.

He closed his eyes into the night.

And let true wisdom like a harp

Resound from this clear tale of might.

A snake deserves no home or trust.

The Good and Evil cannot fuse.

No place for devils in our dust,

For they are driven by Jesus.

THE JUDGE IS COMING VERY SOON…

By Yasen Vedrin

(The Rise of the Fall)

The world forgot about the Lord,

Ruled by a dark, oppressive king.

No righteous Abel is adored,

But praise to wicked Cain they bring.

The rivers run with crimson blood

Midst graveyards spreading far and wide.

The villain whispers through the flood,

With vengeance that he cannot hide.

For more explosions, fires to start,

For mountains built of corpses slain.

The evil rushes, plays his part,

To shoot without a sense of shame.

A life erased just like a blot,

Worth nothing but a single lead.

Where is the human fate and lot

Along the lifelong path we tread?

Will now a tooth or just an eye

Return the toll to Justice true,

When sorrow piles up to the sky,

Like lava that a volcano threw?

O, world of ruin, world of hate,

Sunk down into the deepest hell!

You chose with poison your own fate,

Rejected Grace and God as well.

For nowadays, when brother fights

With brother till their bodies bleed,

You fire up their deadly slights

With rockets, bombs, and guns of greed…

I do not wish to mourn your wall,

For you are Rome in ruins, lost.

A cursed Nero is your thrall –

The sin of your own guilt and cost.

But soon the Judge will come in might,

Like shining lightning from above,

To bring His payment in the night

Through Judgment of His broken love.