The Face Of Darkness Poem by Alexander Beebe

The inner fabric of our mind
consumed with derelict and waste.
What energy is spent-what cost to fuel such putrid hate?
The walls we build to save our soul;
the light is blocked the darkness grows.

The world at war-it seems so nonchalant.
Like habits formed-the ease at which it taunts.
The dance repeats-each partner wants to lead,
till circles worn in fabric at our feet.

As if each generation feels alone.
No need to save-inheritance unknown.
Earthly resources that our maker gives,
consumed in whole, the crumbs as buried waste.

As if to sit on the branch we cut,
our fate is sealed, if our swords we thrust.
What good will come on this road we travel,
if at the end- darkness swings its gavel.
GUILTY! !