Then Whence Cometh Evil?

Asked of God or disease,
Of human nature or
Natural selection,

Cultural history,
Of anything at all,
Any way you ask it,

It’s spot on topic but
The most useless question,
One more variation

Of the strange conviction
That, if you find the root,
Rip it out of the ground,

You’ll destroy the problem
And end the invasion.
Actual plants don’t end

At their tap roots always,
And they’re mere metaphors
For the invisible,

Thorough penetration
Threading everything with
What’s wrong with everything.

It’s not an invasion.
It’s this life’s condition.
Cure or consolation

Won’t be found by asking
For which way the wind blows
Or homing directions.

It may not even be
Evil that you’re seeing,
Which implies agency.

It may be suffering,
Merely suffering, felt
By good and evil both—

Gravity, creation
Out of nothing, something,
Ceaseless waves, battering

Stone into submission.
There’s a hole in the rock
Surrounded by dying

Through which goeth evil.
Nothing seems to return.
To be sure, that’s something.