The world is now too full of self, it seems,

Material creeds now worshiped like the sun;

Where pride, disguised as virtue, boldly deems

The rights of many serve the will of one.

No point of view may counter that which is—

And that which is now, a point of view,

Designed to lock all doors where freedom lives

And give the wicked, license to pursue.

What once was right now ever seeming wrong—

What once was white now shades of ashen grey,

All truth is muzzled by the chanting throng

While fear fair throttles what the wise may say.

A Tower of Babel reaching to the skies—

Assured to court disaster and demise.