Walking in the Wasteland

The sun falls down from the sky and fire washes the earth clean of the human stain-
like a promise that only through the atomic fire can there be an end to strife, an
end to pain.
I walk upon the highways of molten glass, all that really remains of the paths of mankind,
was this all we were but travellers on the land, as temporary as the windslept memories
in my mind
Did all that we hope to achieve end with the child-like tantrums of half a dozen men
all screaming as if the world was a toy to be fought over in the middle of a school
playground?
Did all that we hoped to dream for come down who had the biggest bad bomb
as if our collective thumbs itched to press the flashing red button just to hear that
awful sound?
The end will come with a flury of fury, why are we in such a hurry?
are we but rats on the sinking ship of humanity to scuttle and scurry?
Is the wasteland all that will survive as if to say that all can be assured of
was the passing shadows of out past failures to make a hell below and another
hell above?

The sun sets on the wasteland where my feet had once walked through the ash
All that was, is no longer what it could have, should have become, hope defied
in the momentary angry clash
like school yard bullies laying waste to the efforts that would assured us of a peace
like we have never known
like the absolute denial that non-violnece was what we should have pursued instead
of weapons of steel and stone.
like there was a chance that we could walk hand in hand, finally knowing what it was
to be free
and all that should have been was like a universal love that could be shared between
you and me.
Now all is dust and I will find no place to place my head, the is no rest wherever I shall
roam
There is nothing but the wasteland and it's memories that lie scattered like skeletons of the
place that once was my home.