AFTERMATH - Poem by Margaret Wilde

Aftermath

I cede to you this Wilderness,
Said God. -
Chaos is yours.
I wash My hands of it. -
The problem is too complex.
I will have none of it.
It was not caused by Me.

In the Beginning, the Primordial Void was mouldable. -
But not this: this engineered,
This fostered, nurtured, lush, vile
Cancer.

Let those who brought about Confusion,
End it.
You must not lay it at My door -
Nor at My feet. -
Forbear!

Thankful that it is no concern of Mine,
I exercise an ancient rite
In ecclesiastical circles:
I pass by on the other side.


Margaret Wilde © 2009