Lurk's Compendium of Dark Poetry (LCDP)

"The Seed of Man"

In the beginning, the earth was made pure,
A cradle of green, of sky, of breath-
And from the dust, Man rose with a hungry heart.
He called the rivers his own, and named the beasts,
Not as companions, but as fuel for his fire.

Lo, he tilled the soil until it bled,
He made the forests groan beneath his yoke.
The stars, which once sang of the heavens,
Now shudder at his gaze, for they, too,
Will be devoured by his ambition.

What is Man, that he should claim dominion?
A parasite clothed in flesh, crawling upon the skin
Of a world once whole, now hollowed out.
He builds towers of pride, but beneath the stone
His roots dig deep, choking the breath of the earth.

On that Day, when the trumpet sounds,
It will not be the soul of one that stands for judgment.
Nay, the scales shall be weighed with the deeds of all.
From the first spark of his hunger to the last tear of the sky,
Humanity shall face its reckoning.

For what have they done, those that thought themselves kings?
They have consumed the bounty, turned the oceans black,
And the soil to ash. No hand is clean, no heart is free-
Together they have borne the curse,
Together they shall drink the bitter cup.

The voice that judges will not ask,
"Did you plant a seed, or did you spare a lamb?"
But rather, "What was the harvest of your kind?"
And the earth itself shall speak against them,
For she was their mother, and they her plague.

Woe to the sons and daughters of dust,
For when the book is opened, it shall bear no names.
The weight of the world's ruin is shared by all,
And the crown of thorns they wove in life
Will pierce their souls at the end.

Thus it was written, thus it shall be done:
The parasite, in its hunger, consumes even itself.
And in the silence that follows,
The earth shall breathe once more.