Ouroborus

The living gently stagger through the land of the dead

Fingers wrapped in threads of yearning;

Without such controls eroding

The way they often do

As life keeps on imploding

And the many cannibalise the few.

The Earth would keep on turning

With its axis turned askew

But no codes would need decoding

With no need to know how to blame and who

Will keep the bombs exploding

With means more than meager learning

To turn the cycle of life continually on its head.