Escape From the Wasteland

 

Who can deny humanity is lost,
wandering in wasteland, star-crossed,
through countrysides war-torn and razed,
and stumbling onward, weary and dazed?

 

Now a holocaust is pent in cages,
riding on rockets with three stages;
and black death and red terror
are dealt with little margin for error.

 

Buildings can be shaken from their foundations
by massive sub-sonic vibrations.
Already the button lies waiting.
The effects, of course, would be devastating.

 

So it is, the violence of a handful
affects the planet's future survival,
but humanity is not meant to be subjected
to the rail of tyrants or promises of the elected.

 

Now hear the voice of compassion speak:
Heal the sick, feed the poor, aid the weak!
Turn to a neighbor and call him a brother
or sister, and learn to help one another.

 

What use is more than meets one's need;
and what is to be gained by greed
that is not lost and never found?
In the end, all are swallowed by the ground.

 

This is no philosophical mysticism.
It's just a bit of constructive criticism.
Only give, just once, some small assistance
to a child or an aged widow, for instance.

 

The joy is not held in reserve to know
after life is over and emotions don't show.
The feeling, pure and simple, is a treasure;
its worth is beyond all earthly measure.

 

For one who possesses such a cherished token
of hope knows the feeling of which I have spoken,
and, in the end, when no one is left alive,
tell me, if you can, how will love survive?