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?