The "Fossil" Fuel

Poemata 30

Oil they say is death: by which they mean the dead
Made of fossils, not of earth, this is what they've said
And if true, then industry must also be the same
Built upon such misery that cannot have a name;
Coal and gas and bitumen, necromancy's wage
"Oh we must be rid of them", this was all the rage!
Carbon rocks rotate about where Ceres has his home,
Titan's oil is deep and stout tho' formerly unknown;
Shall we say that's evidence, a living thing's abode?
In astronomy it makes no sense, we are being snowed;

Some mayhap have felt it well to live upon the dead
Some perhaps are sons of hell; this is what they've said
Death on death the rule of life, their pentacle is scrawled
'gainst their fellow draw the knife, excesses now are sprawled
Across our world for all to see, symbols all awry
Mere inconstance saved the sea, fear it saved the sky
Parts of earth they cannot reach, the sun is much too far
From these depths these ichors leach, when rocks come ajar;
A shame for them to fin'ly grasp what this oil is worth
These ichors that provide us gas simply are the earth.