Bible Poetry Project
"Lot, who went with Abram, also had flocks and herds and tents, so that the land could not support them staying together; for their possessions were so great that they could not remain together. And there was quarreling between the herdsmen of Abram's cattle and those of Lot's cattle. -- The Canaanites and Perizzites were then dwelling in the land. -- Abram said to Lot, 'Let there be no strife between you and me, between my herdsmen and yours, for we are kinsmen. Is not the whole land before you? Let us separate: if you go north, I will go south; and if you go south, I will go north'" Genesis 13.5-9
Brotherly love, a guise for brotherly hate,
No love lost between,
No generosity of two, of duos, in this
hateful, hot land, between tents.
The wiser brother struck first,
an act of deceptive acquiescence,
with gold bracelets tattooed to his wrist
and arms, his stomach thrust before
him, grown fat and round with
meals of wine and meals of meats,
his shepherd's cloak of finer weave
than any herd attendant would touch.
Let us part and be parted, he offered,
and you may choose, for we are
preoccupied with petty quarrels
and this area grows only rocks.
Delighted to rule, delighted to decide,
Lot believed his brother relinquished
the kingdom of choice,
and gave too much.
To choose well would yield rivers of
milk, and fields of peaches
bursting with amber juice.
To choose otherwise would
pick the cattle to their ribs,
and the breasts' of his wives would
shrivel to lentils,
and only bile would fill the mouths
of the neonates.
Only Abram knew that his brother
had no choice,
that luck alone decided these matters,
not industry, not contemplation.
To Abram went the wreath of Fortune
Lot would lose his wife, his cattle,
his daughters, his words,
and lie by the Jordan.
What if he had gone south instead?
Brotherly love, a guise for brotherly hate,
No love lost between,
No generosity of two, of duos, in this
hateful, hot land, between tents.
The wiser brother struck first,
an act of deceptive acquiescence,
with gold bracelets tattooed to his wrist
and arms, his stomach thrust before
him, grown fat and round with
meals of wine and meals of meats,
his shepherd's cloak of finer weave
than any herd attendant would touch.
Let us part and be parted, he offered,
and you may choose, for we are
preoccupied with petty quarrels
and this area grows only rocks.
Delighted to rule, delighted to decide,
Lot believed his brother relinquished
the kingdom of choice,
and gave too much.
To choose well would yield rivers of
milk, and fields of peaches
bursting with amber juice.
To choose otherwise would
pick the cattle to their ribs,
and the breasts' of his wives would
shrivel to lentils,
and only bile would fill the mouths
of the neonates.
Only Abram knew that his brother
had no choice,
that luck alone decided these matters,
not industry, not contemplation.
To Abram went the wreath of Fortune
Lot would lose his wife, his cattle,
his daughters, his words,
and lie by the Jordan.
What if he had gone south instead?
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