UDEME RALPH

No God, no laws No scheme or order Demons or angels Just science and art And witty thoughts From wise, bearded oldies. No truth, no precision No sacred creeds to relish, Or revelations to believe Just flickering facts Flowing with the tides Ever changing, never stable. No God, no saviours No boons for my labours Just me in a dying world, Going round praying in vain, Just me, all by myself, Life fashioned for the grave My skulls for termite’s games No heaven, no hell No other world but this, This dying earth, This fading speck In the boundless heart of space Miserable man, tossed by fate Alive as brutes and birds A wretch, a dung: poor me! Better dead than to live In a world so sick and grim Better never to have been Than to be and see all these. Better to be nothing Than to be human. 

To the wars and strife and all the maladies of life Love is the way the narrow path the strait gate the last resort to be sought Love lies in the heart. It is close, it rests on our palms runs in our veins waiting to be unveiled It's not in countries not gone or in worlds unseen Not a virtue to seek or a gem in a lost world It's here, daily beckoning on us, on humankind It cries, and wails ceaseless to see these bombs all gone, to draw us to our senses.