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Poem

We are but flesh and blood
  spawned from a putrid drop
our end to lie in the ground
  with the worm and maggot

Babes, dependent on mothers
  for nourishment and love
at the close of our days
  as helpless as newborns again

In the prime of our lives
  we satisfy our desires as we can
for the fulness of the bloom
  soon fades, the years swiftly pass
and age takes its toll in full measure

We rage at perceived injustice
  call for an end to iniquity
knowing too well the futility of reform
  the bloody terror of revolution...

The earth's generations come and go
  One truth they do know ~
When passion subsides, quiet faith emerges
  All else vanity and funeral dirges

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