Childish

The Father above,
looks below.
The Mother below,
looks above.
Man is what they imagine together.

The Father being a prime creative force,
Lends us his infinite breath.
By which we get the soul.
The Mother being the nurturer,
Holds us in her womb and feeds us from her breast.
By which we get the body.

Man at one time loved the Father and respected the Mother.
Now man only loves himself.
His eyes were pointed up in awe of the Father
And his heart was filled with the Mother.
Now his eyes are straight ahead,
and his heart is nowhere to be found.

Man creates and takes as if he were the Father
and pillages and burns the Mother.
Technology outgrew man’s wisdom,
now the Mother is saying,
“I brought you in, I can take you out.”

The Father by nature is patient,
the Mother can’t afford to be.
For when we have eaten the womb and dried the breast,
enough will be enough.

The Mother will scratch the itch that man has become.
When the winds come, the oceans rise, and the sky falls,
Man will look back to the Father and beg him to stop the Mother.
The Father in his infinite wisdom will shrug,
and say “maybe the next time around.”

Thus our epoch ends,
So that a new one may begin.