The fall from Earth's grace

Where mysteries lie, like cockroaches, hellbent on resistance to the plague of time, a secret garden of delights materializes; with reproach, they linger forth, in rows that mirror each other, a mirage of faceless beings. Their hearts are blackened, tainted, by the wasteland, a den of their own making.  For all your choices led to this, so do not beg forgiveness.  Bamboozled, you've all been, by the gods of Gluttony, of Gore and Greed; false idols full of charming deceit.  You've strayed from Her grace, so far removed - a distant cousin - unaffected, at first.  And She weeps in sympathy, for all her children.  Perhaps on some other realm, she thinks, a parallel universe, where butterflies roam free, unharmed; it would have been different.