My virginal shoulders could only support so much thought,
Before they succumbed to that virulent, green Iblis.
Sons will be what they are, and what they are taught:
A morality drawn to the image of Darwinian fitness.

Casted in His image, but then caught in the net,
Stretching chained hands towards freedom, just to see it sublimate.
Never a seat at the table, but always a back for the Debt.
And to be born of this blood is enough to incriminate.

Shoulder blades tremble, just at the sight,
Of the burden born from that first gasp.
Left with no map, friend, or eyes in the dead of the night,
But have no worries, He loves the first to the last.

*******!  My knees have collapsed and split,
You sit unattached, removed, indifferent on my chest,
But it was you!  You are the one who started all of it.
And when names were called, and the cards were down, you just up and left.