Ah, man
How high the pedestal on which he stands
Lost in reverence of himself and his deeds –
Prone to forgetting his nature and ‘civility’.
He is a menace to himself and all that breathes;
For he is as feral as the beasts
Above which he holds himself.

Man
To what ruinous end would he drive this world?
What manner of destruction and death will he unfurl?
He pays no heed, not even to his own kind
He has such magnificent vision, but he is blind

Man,
Holds a brush of ruin and paints such foul ends
His every stroke on the earthly canvas, rends.
It lends intensity to misfortune and torments.
Now even the breathless sigh and weep
For man bears the scythe and he will wantonly reap.

Man
Capable of every ill, it would seem
Yet, the fool has hope of being redeemed
He holds on dearly to his dire dogmas
Sat astride prevarication - an embodiment of Ananias

Man will, by his own designs, meet a jester’s end.

R. A. Tyndall