Epoch of Suffering

This sublime firmament, our collective reality The fruit of genocide, the slaughter of millions By the providence of God They too will fall to their knees, In supplication Worshipful of the bloody-handed one Whose religion so easily makes a yoke about the neck Instrument of destiny Countless bodies a mulch for the ground Upon which holy men may walk No level of abasement No degree of slaughter May call into question The divinity of this mission When the angelic host did create this unspoiled verdure For the refreshment of his chosen people Why forever did they populate it With vermin of sullied visage? A matter of swift correction Some will be forced into pens The fortunate human cattle Those who come after By industrial conveyance Are slowly bereft and gradually merged into a mass of human meat Bones ground into a fine dust By the weight of centuries Aeons of suffering The last will be denied even the meager inheritance of their kin They will not survive what is to come The end of all mercy upon the earth At last