Doom,
We walk towards thy gate,
side by side, with Destiny,
and despair...

Doom, your benevolence is great,
to let the children outside play;
Yet the Sun
must surely go.

Doom,
more than Death,
am I not doomed merry dreams?
or Merry Times?

Doom,
are you so bad,
as to rupture the rose
that sprouts on sacred soil?

I think not,
for as I look to thee,
you are speculated as a tangled knot,
and just simplified as a misery to be..

But who are we to change fate?
Less war and evil rage on with hate?
Then god might come lessened and late
and spiral us into an perpetual state?

Who are we to change the Earth
that is ever more patient and disputable
than our clustered minds
like musicals?

Who are we to undo hell
to unleash the thieves and liars fell
upon the sacred land of God
whence fair and innocence mindlessly trod?

Who are we to shape the Sun
so that it exists and is never undone?
To breathe the open-aired light of day
to fool our minds, to celebrate and sway?

We are but peasants, mindless, and few
that from which a starry void did send us through,
and so we were, and so we are, from dust to dust,
doom is then, doom is there, and alone it cannot rust!