Jaron

We are the children of everthing broken;
Bastardized, beating the mother's womb; taken
Screeching profanity; silently waiting;
Chaos, destruction, and dischord; elating
All these, soliciting more than these, killing
Everything possible, revelling in things
Totally broken. We terrorize all that
Terror can touch and we relish it, hold it
Closer than that which can save us from ourselves,
Carrying onto our personalized hell
Known to us only as heaven, with earthly
Compensates, comforts, endeavours that we
Thrive in and die in; so frequently outraged,
Taken by everything holding attention; the stage
That we held our great play on is broken,
Battered, and bludgeoned: its tenants have spoken,
Making destruction the fine art of all of
Connisseurs - tasters of life and of all of
Death and of life and humanity. Who takes?
Who gives this curse of our plague to let us break
All that's eternal? And who gives the right to
Flourish as parasites, sapping what is true?

Enter god...