Colin F. Jones
~ 1 ~
A tiny ball in space rolls round the sun,
Uniquely blue from moisture giving life,
Where tiny beings glorify the gun,
Kill and maim in perpetuating strife.
Beauteous this planet with a marvellous grace,
Delighting all who behold her wondrous form,
Represents a miracle in unconquered space,
Yet revolving with a sadness so forlorn
For on it’s surface magnified by truth,
Millions of creatures fight with boot and claw,
Selfish grasping jaws with bloodied tooth,
Discarding peace for the vile victories gained from war.
And those too old to fight though they complain.
Declare with pride, they’d do it all again.
~ 2 ~
How long then will the sun burn out in space,
It cannot last forever it would seem,
The closer those on Earth do see its face,
The quicker does the human lose his dream.
For long before the sun doth lose its flame,
The Earth will retire from its current place,
Divide its particles into shattered grain,
As fodder to feed the Sun’s crimson face.
So the search is on to find another home,
A planet living with a younger sun,
To give it life that nurtures blood and bone,
With all the ingredients to build another gun.
For what man keeps he keeps a little while,
For selfishness and destruction are his style.
©Copyright February 4, 2002 by Colin F. Jones