His hand reached out but was so oft ignored Distrust of his different views made them wary But the hatred of others and their vile resolution Was brutal to see, but for him wouldn’t vary.
Each night he prayed to his Father for guidance But his future was foretold, he would die In the savage times then he would die on a cross But His love and the Message, they can’t crucify.
He sits at the Father’s side now as of right So appalled at what men do to each other They fail in that most simple and basic of tenets That each single man is his brother.
And yet such capacity they have for the gentle They will love with such beauteous joy They’ll delight in the love of their children Yet with bullets and bombs they simply destroy.
They have written great theories about peace and war Yet still man seems so driven to destruction The authors of their very own Armageddon Which approaches from out of their own construction.
These are the thoughts of just one concerned man Many others have thoughts such as he If the Father and the Son are as faith dictates Why do they allow frail humanity to be.
II
Man is the author of his very own doom With thoughtless disdain he heads for his tomb Yet such in itself one could just tolerate If he didn’t make others all share his sad fate. And as one may take up his pen for to write So many more take up arms to join in the fight And as the blood of innocents spills deepest red Innocent victims count for most of the dead. But yet the one with trigger in hand Would also like to understand Why he can’t love and be at home With his wife and children, or reading some tome.
III
The die gets cast by the hidden ‘others’. Who can’t accept that we all are brothers. It will go on --- war is not yet done Man may well yet reach his Armageddon…