What lesson does the baby born
who dies in the light of its second morn
learn from a punishment of false fruit reaped
in the myth of the fall from perfection? Its
ears hear not the anguish torn from those who dared
to tempt the fates with love unearned
bestowed on filmed eyes, stilled heart,
tiny body of hope brought to abrupt ending.
Who can think mere burdened cross
carries weight enough to pay the due
on all the pain? Quick death, foreordained
with loaded dice (in glib illusion of sacrifice)
is no match for the suffering of cancer victim,
eaten inside until they slowly suffocate
no match for the ``witches'' burned alive
no match at all for billions of years
of animals suffering a single fate
no match, no match for the rivers of tears.
No simple garden is this Earth.
No simple myth explains its birth.
No simple promise of hell or paradise
supported by dozens of legends and lies
makes up for the fact that all life dies
more often in pain than not.
There is, in fact, only one way
true justice could be schooled
in the random dance of being.
If all things, all hearts, all pain, all joy,
are shared by One who is not aloof.
All evil, all good, both darkness and light,
all past, all future - under just One roof.
This only could make it all right.