Eve of Mercy

A satire.

How can it be
That man won't war,
To peel back flesh
And part of blood
When man hath fallen,
(With due course to Eve)
And ever since
Hath done no good.
Stripped of our virtue,
Crown and wings,
(The ilk of which
Our muse doth sing)
We become such folly beasts
And set loose upon
Our mistress Peace
And Justice, both, so
Virginal
Of whom we ravage
And abhor,
And for their innocence
Don't know
The heinous crime
That does befall
Them
That do not wish for power
But seek only meekness
Until their final hour;
An hour of which, us;
Man, will bring to be
About so much more quick
With our fire and iron and
Malice, all as though we deign
To make the thunder fall
And as by lightning-
Scorched,
We leave the land
And profess a fallacy:
That it were His command.
And for all the well,
We make double ills
Afraid as though
Our kindness
May spill,
For our mother, mercilessly, did
(For ill begotten gains!)
Quest for knowledge
And for what she found
Condemned us all to sin.
For the truth is known:
Humanity is nothing
And humankind is little more
Than a plaything
To our natural laws-
To be shot, or burned or drowned
Or left to some fate
So much worse,
And for it all,
There's little to be done
But to ceaselessly follow
Our course and run
Our piece of earth
Beyond its ruin,
And all because
Of a woman's doing.