That god hates the world is true.
No man nor power would suffer this world for fate
No jest exists in mythical beasts of sky
Or heavens sold for departed faith.
I call, like Nietzsche, to rid the world
Of angry, joyless human beings
I’d bin such men well in discarded rubbish brought
& bid all of life farewell, unkind.
The flowers & the plants are friends today,
The only scrape of purpose left in life
Save the planet they say & think
Of peace brought at our human cost.
A world of beauty, true & clean
The honest play in sacrificial game
Where power takes its central role
& no sacred lies are told to hide its crown
The weak are dead & flowers grow
Numbers of the sane in check & then
Survival kept by those deserved
& beauty seen by god’s true crowd.
But a frightful race which mocks, destroys & kills;
A hideous bunch of selfish voices
Ego’s spilt on prisoned floors
& all for the murder of precious dreams
So who is god that partakes, allows
A creature known as sick or base
Allows the wonder of the world to die in pain
As the foul stench pervades, expands.
I miss my earth
I miss the times spent in beauty known
Imprisoned now within the terror of a sick social fate
Where no-one cares & no-one knows.
I wish that beauty had conquered all.
~ nature versus the race of man.
© ed simkins