Man’s War With Self

The worst in humanity comes out
When of humanity, little is left,
When on humanity’s door, pounds a threat—
Humanity will destroy itself to be, to exist.

As frailing life kicks out of one,
Another wars with his kind: SURVIVE—
What an excuse of a theme! Yet he mouths it,
As he feeds on the living to live—o’, humanity!

Amidst corpses, I see what once was—
Humanity, slowly becoming, slowly turning…
It rots away from memory, like the gone, going,
Slowly becoming nothing, turning, and fading away.

Along a path blasting with a daylight beam,
Walks Hope in a fine, white robe; she is alone,
And then she’s not—another, in as white a robe,
Joins the walk, holds her hand; her name is Faith.


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