Abrasive Swirling Murk

There are places

not to be found but to be recognized,

they sheltered a fire.

The fire wherein the acts of God

and the acts of men were to melt and merge

making it a a senseless chore

to distinguish the human from the divine.

God resides in such places

and it is where He conspires

at the devastation

of what took him so long to accomplish.

It is where the sentence matured and was declared

in joint responsibility.

Yet, wasn't this an act of compassion?

Like the shooting in the head

of a horse with a broken leg.

Your cry of revolt and disbelief

a brief caesura in the slowing

heartbeat of the world

as if a horrible new pain

had been given birth in abomination -

surges in vain the face the inexorable,

leaving behind but a meagre comfort:

there is no exemption for the offspring

of this withered womb,

not even for Chaos itself.

Who can reap the meaning

of this unstinted negation

of centuries and millions

before it sinks within the infinite depths

of that dun ocean?