The Judgement Of Creation (2000) Poem by David Levitas

When we, on the balance, are put for sure,
Precariously placed, before Truth's door:
The throne, above, in celestial dew,
The waste-land, beneath, a cold greying hue;
Carolling angels, rejoicing in prise,
Hungry mortals, ever consuming haze:
Each mote of thought, each waking emotion,
Each selfless deed, that silenced commotion,
And from the body's source, truth redifined
Through filter beds of thought, that action signed;
Shall, with the blind ego's, driven striving,
That hears not the cry of others riving,
Feels not the pain, of pities illusion,
The wondrous joy, of loves's great delusion;
Be split asunder, on fine scales be weighed;
For all to judge, angels, man, beast and maid:
And, if we, in truth, on balance incline,
Our matter included, through death's decine;
Then even Michael, standing with his sword,
The accusing angels, Satan, their Lord,
Can not, the Highest Wisdom's scales o'turn,
But must creation grant, so all can learn.

In life we act this play, as if it's real:
With the curtain crash, it sets with a seal.