Words of The Lamb

As Rome fell, you and I were somewhere, then,
as chromosomes and genes, which found a way
to become what we became, and rise again.

As Eve and Adam left the first garden
we started to become. And on the day
the Christ died, you and I were somewhere, then.

Through every war—yea, any time that men
and women have wreaked harm, or gone astray,
whatever we are, was, and rose again.

And here’s the hope: That we have withstood ten
thousand million losses, and still can say:
If the world ends, we shall be somewhere, then,

able to act, or not act. Too often,
it has been not, and there’s been hell to pay.
Yet whatever we were, managed to rise again!

Our issue—heirs, art, rage—shall be there when
the end to come, comes; therefore I inveigh:
That Fall shall find us somewhere, too—and then
whatever we become, must rise again.

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