The Schism

We were all together, till the schism.
Now our days are filled with fear, and dolour,
Joyful from my toes to my back molar.
Many things, all wrong, viewed through this prism,
Succour and protect the organism:
Change our power source, from wind to solar
(Sun was hot enough; the wind was polar),
Break the world apart with magnetism.

Doubt and cheer and blind regret are peppered
Through with questions: are the blossoms fragrant,
Sweeter than a sigh, or merely flagrant?
Is the shadow here a stalking leopard
Or a kindly and protective shepherd,
Or a scholar's dream? Think of a vagrant.