Friday, April 26, 2024

Offsite Post: ‘Prophet Jeremy the Pillar-Dweller’


Jeremy Matthews entered his northern Virginia home,

A typical deracinated Southern creature,

Pleased with another day’s work at the DHS,

Undermining threats to the Establishment in D.C.

On came the lights, on came the television.

The imagery of the news glided smoothly across the screen,

Following the script he and his colleagues had sketched.

Most of it was easy enough to write by now,

Formulaic as an FM pop song –

Praise the Ukraine, execrate Russia;

Trust in Science, disparage the dissenters;

Denigrate the South as an obstacle to Progress . . .

He started to yawn; “A little too familiar,” he thought.

But then something unexpected did befall him.

Charlottesville.  Lee.  His statue broken.

Broken and melted.  That face!  That face!

Mournful and haunting beyond the tongue’s telling!

He looked away from the screen; he changed the station;

But still that piteous, noble face remained,

Glowing with its golden light, etched in his mind.

He did what he could to forget –

Watched a football game, ate a meal.

But when sleep fell upon him, the image returned.

The visage tormented him, drove sweet rest

From his weary limbs, disturbed his soul.

The Holy Ghost spoke to him then, echoed through his nous,

“Many have been your evil works,

For which you suffer here tonight.

Yet you are not left bereft of hope.

If you would atone for lies and wickedness,

Make your abode atop the pillar

I will show you on Monument Avenue.”

Jeremy jerked awake, shuddering with fear,

But comforted by the promise he had heard.

He hastened to Richmond in the night,

Saw flames of fire hovering above the statue

Of a pagan goddess that had replaced Jeb Stuart’s.

He searched the grounds; he found a ladder,

He knew not how (or perhaps he did),

And some tools to boot.  With them he climbed

And broke the statue loose, sent it crashing to the ground.

The earth made no reply; the animals paused to look, then left.

From branches, bushes, and flowers he fashioned a Cross

And secured it high upon the pillar, upon its very crown.

With the Cross of Christ beside him, now his sole support,

He began his daunting journey of repentance.

Standing upon his feet, day and night,

 . . .

The rest is at


Holy Ælfred the Great, King of England, South Patron, pray for us sinners at the Souð, unworthy though we are!

Anathema to the Union!

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