I pay their heed
of troublesome quarrel.
A dastardly deed
without manner or moral.
They assign me a quest
to topple a city.
Opening Pandora's chest
on this hopeless committee.
I take their weight and leave,
contemplating my actions.
Their lives should I reave,
their children and mother's reactions?
I wander into town.
Apocalypse plagues my thought.
Should I tear them down?
Make them tolerate the terror that I wrought?
I end up in a public place,
words flowing about.
An image of the human race.
A people I would flood with drought.
I look upon the sea of emotion.
People talking with no care,
living life with little devotion.
I would rob and leave them bare.
Do I protect my native folk
and murder these strangers?
These people that I've spoke
having no clue of these dangers.
The noise blends into thoughtless radiance.
A mangled noise of unadulterated many.
With no sign of mindful independence,
these people become a human symphony.
I would be the one to silence the choir.
Cutting down the pillars of man.
Of these thoughts I begin to tire,
away from my problems I have amply ran.
The time has come to make a decision.
I contemplate the outcome of the city of Dover,
and swiftly with just precision,
the ensemble is silenced and their song is over.
Then appears the crimson cloud
that man compares to fungus,
which I suppose should be allowed,
for it is a plague birthed by us.
I slaughter one hundred to save one thousand.
The social backlash is overwhelming.
These people died by my hand,
by the mass genocide I've been helming.
What condones annihilation?
The need for resources or common silk?
I see a world in need of rehabilitation,
spoiled by an excess of mother's milk.
Men find solace in murder and death.
Taking and giving with no bounds,
joyously squeezing out Gaia's breath,
leaving bodies in democratic mounds.
This weight I can lift no longer.
I will give the men their prideful root,
apologizing for not being stronger.
I point my gun and shoot.
