Those who speak the word "our",
Rather than "I", "my", and "mine",
Often deserve respect and power,
And in darkness the chance to shine!
Great power for the few and the elite,
Should only last a fleeting hour,
For in the timescale of the cosmic infinite,
Destroyed and marred should be no flower.
The Golden Ages will decay, rot, and rust,
As savage Bronze and Iron make them brittle.
Hands of Progress become those of Bloodlust,
Leaving hope to the hands of the little.
Questions linger as to whether then progeny,
Will set aside their differences and hold hands,
Or fuel the fires of hatred, war, and tyranny,
And burn their ideas across the lands.
The fateful hour approaches at hand.
The dictators move the masses on command.
The countries fade away into the dusty terrain.
The waves of conquest wax and wane.
Questions linger as to whether the ancestry,
Had resolved the world's issues ages past,
Or devolved into Madmen in the Ministry,
Preaching falsehoods never meant to last.
The Dark Ages will rise amidst blood and pain,
Enforced by harsh Diamond and Brimstone.
Feet once clean will now by ashen rain,
Be soiled while walking on fields of bone.
Great suffering for the many and the poor,
Always seems like an agonizing eternity,
For in the timescale of Earth's crust and core,
Trampled should be all rebellious felicity.
Those who speak the words "I", "my", and "mine",
Rather than the selfless "our" or "us" or "all",
Often deserve only to drink Hubris's Wine,
And in arrogant glory the need to fall!