Upon a gentle wave,
Cradle me for five hundred thousand years,
So'sto see what's been saved,
Will't be humanity's propensity,
For mass self-destruction,
Preoccupation with getting its due,
Regardless of any repercussion?
Or will we somehow rise above ourselves?
That seems unnatural,
Twixt God and desire for the biggest truck,
We'll ever be feral,
The problem is,
Even as I write this,
I soar above looking for my own chance,
To obtain my own material bliss.
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