Alas, Wounded World!

Alas, bold and vexing world!
At last, I will have you no more,
For I have been dealt the Greater Wound.

Alas, your sheath is come,
An ineffaceable scabbard,
But I will mourn you not; I thrill at your passing!

The weight borne by Atlas —
Not a drop or speck will endure.
Water and Terra burn and evaporate as an indiscernible mixture.

All constellations: turn aside,
For the Great Ones have fallen.
Earth and all her inhabitants are ruined by True Power.

Nor could the sun shine,
Not upon this gruesome scene:
From edge to edge the souls of Sol are scourged.

Mercury is silent,
The interior system ceases to speak
All the ungodly messages have passed from memory.

And what comfort is Venus?
The rage of her mirror, and its vanity
Is ended, not unlike her inhospitably from the beginning.

O Wounded Terra! Decimated!
What charity could soothe your demise?
Your inhabitants and their developments are smelted as dross.

Mars, the useless brother —
He was our shepherd to his fold
Where he too was but a sheep to be fostered by wolves.

And the brightest star, Marduk,
He shall burn with the worst of them.
Long has he subjugated the Wounded World, he and his demon brother!

Loveliest of all, Saturn is harvested
Like the most common of grain,
And the Victor shall wear her rings as tokens of her demise.

Uranus: wicked and debased!
His lot is with the devils of the deep,
Though the sons of death worshiped him as Sky.

Every drop of Neptune will boil.
Sea will writhe, evaporate, and be no more.
For the deceived will no longer bow to Terra, Sky, and Sea.

Lastly, Pluto’s waning favor fails:
With it Charon, the Beloathed River, and the satellites.
Until ruining undoes both deceived and deceiver in sweeping grandeur.

O Wounded Planet, rife with Wounded Souls!
Who shall rescue you from your most excellent demise?
It was foretold long before men came to their senses and reckoned it fable.

Alas, Wounded Planet! Alas!
For all your ages you remained stubborn.
Gravity is your master, and with it you shall burn.

Time has dealt you harshly,
But not without its benefits.
Terra and her children have long balked at repentance.

Now the Victor comes,
Bringing with Him His recompense,
And none shall be spared the Sword of His Mouth.

But you captives: rejoice,
For your Liberator comes!
Here He comes, full of grace and truth!

For in His grace He crushes the proud;
In His benevolence He ousts the shameful.
Yet He is near to the downtrodden and the brokenhearted.

Be dismayed, O inhabitants of the Wounded World!
Be horrified, O deceived ones and you deceivers together!
It is the end of twisted half-truths; it is the end of false particles.

Science tried to teach you,
But you would not hear its wisdom.
You sought ‘how’ and scoffed at ‘why.’

Your deeds are defecated,
for manure they were from Genesis.
Your first-fruits cannot satisfy the blood owed for your debts.

Give! Give of all your goodness,
Give until you have scored your body purple,
But your portion in Eternity is torn from you, for you forgot the Royal One.

Yes, let the doer and doing burn together,
For doing is done.
But those restless for Justice have seen Him come, and rest.

Kiss the Son, lest He be angry.
For He is kind to those who are His Own,
But will destroy those who have no portion in life.

Alas, Wounded World!
The Sword is against you and you are forever sheathed.
But you humble ones, take heart: your Recompense is at hand.

We see the Great Wound;
By mercy, we see our Great Lack.
So we sigh: heal us of ourselves by Yourself, through Yourself, for Yourself, in Yourself, and to Yourself.

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Written by Benjamin Scott Campbell
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Some inspiration: Earth by Sleeping At Last

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