Looking back from the precipice, 

abyss before us all, 

actions of our past now behind. 

Hate descended like a wicked fog, 

coloring all aspects, 

pushing towards the edge. 

“What could we have done?”

man will ask the herald. 

Laughter will be the reply, 

for if now it cannot be seen, 

truly it never will. 

The remedy would have been so easy, 

so simple…

A world born out of love, 

now sentenced to death by hate. 

Man, in all of his blindness,

the executioner. 

For he turned to the corrupt, 

the false-sages. 

It was only ever the lover that he needed emulate,

the young, the pure, 

they alone held the keys, 

they alone were ignored.    

Let it never be said that man wasn’t warned. 

The prophets came, 

they gave instruction, 

they were ignored. 

As man falls into the abyss it has dug, 

let him lament what has passed him by, 

what he refused to open himself to. 

Let him lament his own destruction.