Poetry / Broken World

To what do we owe the delight of these wonders of the world?

This world which we have wrought with trepidation and ruin,

Is it fairer to say that we do not deserve this world?

This world which we have dented through our quest for conquest,

Conquest. . .

What is the prize of this conquest of ours?

A damaged and broken world which is beyond repair?

I, sir, do not wish to obtain this prize,

A prize that is damaged is no prize at all.

I would rather see this world in all its splendour,

Rather than torment and injury.

But alas, I shall not see this dream,

For this world is already too spoilt for restoration.

Alternatively, I shall see all the grandeur that is left in this world,

And pray that my grandchildren may see the dignity that this world once had.

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