I've no idea what brought us here
or how it all began.
It's rather glum, what we've become--
I'm not a massive fan.

It's sad to say we've lost our way
and don't know where we are.
Through many years and countless tears
we've not come very far.

Just when did need turn into greed
and so begin the rot?
Perhaps our curse is nothing worse
than "I want what you've got".

We once gave rest to the oppressed
and didn't call them names.
Will fighting cease when men of peace
are not shot down in flames?

Remember when we both were ten,
our dispositions mild?
Divergent views were hardly news
and didn't drive us wild.

No tribal fuss, no "them and us"
on peaceful school bus runs.
How time has flown. Now we have "grown",
exchanging toys for guns.

When folk are sad or feeling mad--
unhappy with their lot;
to find release, they'll grab their "piece"
and shoot you on the spot.

I'm over all the noisy gall
of loud and angry men.
So, to my shed, I've upped and fled--
a safe and cosy den.

I'll work with wood, make something good,
some highly useful thing.
A lifted weight, to contemplate
the smile that it will bring.

The joy of craft will drown the daft
and repetitious noise.
A bird house for my lovely spouse,
a train set for our boys.

Of human ills, I've had my fill;
I'm hiding from this hell.
It's time to play "crab for a day"--
a hermit in his shell.

When I emerge, if on the verge
of doom, our world is stood...
my cave I'll seek, therein to wreak
stern vengeance on some wood.