The Circle – The Dawning of the Dark Age.

Yesterday I dreamt I saw,

an enormous room, without a door,

and a million people trapped within,

paying with their lives for a horrible sin.


The ceiling was black, the walls were red,

The people inside had a feeling of dread.

So in their subterranean life giving tomb,

they sat and watched and waited their doom.


The dim lights flickered off and on,

No-one knew what was going on.

A blue grey mist moved across the room

They knew that something would happen soon.


And then I saw appear, a door,

and on it was written one word – WAR.

Those convicts wanted to find a new life,

away from sorrow, hardship and strife.


Men first, they formed a queue,

Women and children followed too.

Lining up at the door with all they had,

To escape their cell before going mad.


They unlocked the door, turned off the lights,

Peered outside to see the sight

For now they knew that freedom was dearer,

And so the dawn of another era.


One by one they crept outside,

Away from the tomb where they’d had to hide.

They vowed to oppose anyone they saw,

who might force them back inside that door.


They met a man whose skin was black,

and slew him for fear he’d send them back.

For they thought that once they’d stepped outside,

Not another soul would be on their side.


They plundered on and one night,

discovered a man whose skin was white,

But he believed in Peace and Love,

Wore a white robe, carried a dove.


So they killed him too for fear he might,

Estrange them of their inalienable right

to find greed, hate, power and war

and remain outside that wartight door.


They travelled on across all nations,

Causing havoc, pestilence and deprivation.

Reaping a perverted harvest of fear,

enslaving nations without shedding a tear.


They met a man whose skin was yellow,

his ody all bent and his cheeks were hollow.

With his dignity broken, he begged for bread,

from an army of captors that wanted him dead.


But the warriors played their almighty role,

and traded a tractor for his soul.

His self-respect? A packet of seed.

That’s the story of a victor’s greed.


With conscience sated and a treaty in hand,

they carried on to another land.

But they found a barren desert there,

A vast expanse, arid and bare.


It was so dry, they couldn’t survive,

Not even an insect was still alive.

But still not realizing their ultimate fate,

they drilled a well to irrigate.


Out poured water, so they drilled more wells

and decided this was where they’d dwell.

But the wells dried up – then spewed forth oil,

killing the crops, polluting the soil.


Still they laboured on through heat and drought,

trying to work their problems out.

With their livestock dying, and short on gold

They realized the oil just had to be sold.


They went abroad and learned to sell,

the black gold  gushing from their well.

They found the worth of their trade,

by the hordes of enemies that they made.


As time went on and their knowledge grew,

they began to make machinery too.

They built factories out of concrete and steel

and monolith flats, austere and unreal.


To protect their cities, they built ships

and jet planes for reconnaissance trips.

They made guns, arms, mortars and tanks

and distributed them among their ranks.


But still they feared their enemies were stronger

(for they’d experienced peace much longer)

So they stepped up the factories’ pace

Intent on winning the weapons race.


They learnt about bombs that explode in flames

But the mushroom cloud was their ultimate aim

So the scientists worked until they found,

they could melt the earth for miles around.


They tried it once and then could see,

the destructive power of nuclear energy.

The strength of an atom, far greater than man

could control the world and achieve their plan.


They bombed and slaughtered till they felt strong,

never realizing it might be wrong,

to fight for peace by active agression

to lay waste nations in their possession.


And so they travelled on until they saw,

in front of them, a mighty door.

Written on the door was one word – PEACE

and on the ground, a bunch of keys.


They unlocked the door, turned on the lights,

stepped inside and closed it tight.

for now they new that peace was dearer,

and so, the dawn of another era.

BN – 1971 – Age 21

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