A sore demise to greet an end
When dawn rises and picks the sky
Of stars; and tremors are meant to rend,
Those innocents, unwitting of what's nigh,
Plucked first by calamitous notes
The gold of tumbling bedrock wall
And following, cheers from throats
Before both shaft and screams fall.
The irony of their chaos, they know
Is that amid the wealth of fellow man
Such riches cannot stave the final blow
Of hunger that never needs a plan;
It’s the patient traitor, the great need
Wasting man only second to greed.