Warning: The content of this poem may be offensive to some people as it pertains to religion
Mankind's folly
A man of the cloth
Bleeds down with his sin,
His blood.
Remembered only by spiteful animals,
Breathing in the rafters
Of a center,
For mankind's lewd malevolence.
We brought what was below to the middle level,
And let our so called, progress,
Bring ruin to the life that came before us,
There is no help planned for humanity.
So shy angels fly
Far from the bloodstained ground,
Keep up to their haven,
Bounds above our hell.
We are the very inhabitants,
Said to be from below the rotten soil,
We who wallow
In our own misery.
Hope is an obstruction
To our self-inflicted cruel reality,
Our Hate and Differences,
Are pointless.
Though inhabited,
By the passive old,
And unknown
To the young.
We are obligated,
To save the earth
From ourselves,
In this plight,
Humanity is alone.
