was it not all written
in the divine memoirs
on the nightly heaven
as a pattern of stars

that the worst could happen
at the perfect hour
to rescue the fallen
from haughtiness dour

so that they could in turn
save from the bonfire
their fellow men who burn
in confusion dire

was it not all written
well ahead of the time
in words aptly chosen
metered and set to rhyme

that there's no simple way
to rekindle nature
but take what from the day
provides shallow pleasure

so that there's no option
but to renew the deal
and forego volition
of escaping the real

was it not all written
well before the ordeal
in words left unspoken
lest they too soon reveal

that much more to this life
awaits behind the sheen
of the rewards of strife
and calculated mien

so that knowing the shame
of the superficial
would suffice to shun fame
for what's beneficial

was it not all written
in the celestial script
that thy fruit was smitten
and destined to the crypt

as it was not the yield
of pure inspiration
but was bred in the field
of selfish intention

so that from its demise
a new strength could emerge
a new life could arise
a new world could converge

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