It's a human condition,
A ritual rite;
A subjugated death's-edge,
And it can be a nirvana-like site.
The path of Stevenson's Hyde,
It can change as quick as you extinguish Edison's light;
History can be re-written as fast as you can erase it,
A thousand years of bliss can evaporate within a dictator's narrow sight.
There are saints that haven't officially received their sainthood,
The Gandhi's of our world yet wait for their moment to strut upon the stage;
The Nazi's refuse to settle for eternity in their graves,
Sprouting new roots--with their sulfurous mouth, poisonous pen--and a new hatred within the next generation enrages.
The world, She presents Herself in a debilitating sense,
It's an epitome of Longfellow's "Evangeline's" sorrowful web;
A beginning of hope, and a merciless, disturbing end,
It's a human condition...the flow and the ebb.
