Abraham took Isaac's hand and led him to the lonesome hill.
The hill which stood solemn and ominously, with vultures and coyotes keeping guard,
While his daughter hid and watched,
She dare not breathe, she was so still.
Just as an angel cried for the slaughter,
Abraham's daughter raised her voice,
"How can thee father of mine, spill thy blood?
Doth thee forget the fate of Cain?
Why this blind faith in an absent God?"
The angel hearing this, unfurled his wings, and took out his angel blade,
And asked her what her name was,
She said unfazed, "I have none."
Then he asked, "How can this be?
For you are thy name, just as the Lord is who he is,
It is the fate of all mankind to be limited by the confines of their names"
"My father never gave me one."
In divine rage, the angel cried,
"Insolence, Heresy, Sin. Today Abraham the heavenly host leaves thee,
Lest thy daughter mend her fault,
Both thee and thy son shall fall"
Seeing all mankind raised for slaughter,
The daughter stole the angel's blade,
"If that is what thee wants,
I shall erase myself from time itself,
Yet today paradise is lost,
Remember carefully the words of the Daughter of Eve"
And so history forgets her name,
Much as sense wins over faith.
Is that what you planned,
O God of Rage, ruling over a land of hate?