Before I am born, I am forgotten
I carry sins for the world.
I share them out like sweets
As a mother would for her children.
Each must have his own portion
Without sin, the world turns to ash.
There must be crimes, murders
Catastrophes to swipe man away.
Space on your world is not infinite
I do not choose who receives the larger sin.
Like the scattering of seeds or rain
I let them fall where they may.
I am not here to judge man
Only to see evil done by his hand.
Nature has her own way
Of sending evil to keep numbers down.
Pandora will tell you hope remains
That morning light will confirm.
There are no saints among you
Each has been given their own kind of sin.
Whether in thought or deed
I am sorry to say is the way of life.
Good and bad, yin and yang
Decided from the very first spark…

© Anita Dawes 2021