We are diffused by doubt, by anger,
We are confused by ruthless strangers.
Attempting to define our state of being,
Confounded by circular reasoning.

Our own universes we create
Across an aching, empty mindscape.
While, every inch of this barren wasteland
Is, at least, at our command.

Are we not as gods?--have we not attained
For ourselves the true label of human stain?

Circumstances spiral beyond control,
We sit and we wait for the world to implode.
Sinking swiftly beneath angry waves,
Another plane presents a new maze.

Diseased, we search for more souls to infect,
Believing ourselves to have high intellect.
For are we not the progenitors of fate?
Our ignorance manufactures new hate.

Are we not as gods?--have we not attained
For ourselves the true label of human stain?

When will we see?