These days of men are all but now spent,
Their light will fade as if sacrificed for lent.
They take for granted this feast of years,
but gone are those life long studious peers.
Why do we think we are all consuming,
when we are weak and not redeeming.
We use our time for greed and avarice,
which could be spent without time of malice.
Ink and sound should be our tools of trade,
not gun nor sword to fill this last mass grave.
We cannot keep travelling along this linear line,
for stay the path and this will be our end of time.