Pandora Speaks to Shepherds and Kings

Foolish creatures, I was once like you,
hearing voices, seeking their source,
you in a skyful of seraphic choirs,
I in a box of whispered secrets.

We followed our voices. You left
your kingdoms and your sheep,
thinking that angelic hymns
would save you from your hillside labors
or the prison of your own riches.

Blinking in the starlight, your eyes
shone with illusory joy, not yet ready
for despair. The truth lay not
in your gold, incense and myrrh,
or in your flocks, a bleating sea
of white wool under a winter moon,
but in your search for a baby.

My own need to seek the truth
led to swarms of evil, reeking
of malice, fluttering and flapping
like demonic bats out of the box
I had opened despite all warnings.

What’s left for all of us
is a handful of hope.
There is no going back.