Utopian Failure Poem by ENOCH JOHN

This way is a special journey for it leads to the heavenly,
Beyond an azure sky and the cacophony of earth's noise, where billions of stars rejoice,
To fly high as the eagle breathing that rare air,
Seeing beyond the human horizon of limitations,
And hiding in the cleft of the rock at mountaintop,

Thinking thoughts of rhapsody and purity,
The human spirit soaring as a bald eagle.

I see people toiling in the fields of harvest,
Their sweat dripping, dripping, dripping back to our brown earth.
My muse says that that's the way of the world:
Many have forsaken the brown earth for skyscrapers,
Towers of Babel that line the skyscape of Manhattan, London and Tokyo,
A modern civilization of majestic glass, concrete and steel.

Nuclear bombs, I have lost count, stored in special warehouses,
Waiting for Armageddon, a postbellum world of ashes.
If historians survive this holocaust, then can they write,
That man became genius and destroyed himself.