The Last Autumn

The summers come and scurry
Always moving in a hurry
One part of the world in the light
The other part darken in fright
Did God number the fish and stars?
Or can He remember each of our scars? 
Our days numbered by the detailed banality
As each hour expires in brutality 
Will we take any compensation from this world?
Or recall anything substantial that’s unfurled?
Will we anthropomorphize into little gods? 
Or fade into the blacken facade? 
Will we find out that no God ever existed?
That it was some fairytale that became twisted
Where the oppressors invented to quell the savages
That still to this very day ravishes
Oh Mother Earth laughs at her living minions
Because she makes the final provisions 
That hurls the extinction of mankind
As another creature is redesigned
Because man thought he was greater
Than the ever giving and taking creator.

- John Hardesty