Countless people died on March 28
In war, after living a long life, in joy
In peace, after so little life, in horror
Many born, with a mystery of life to live
We think all those born a miracle, and great
We think those lost a tragedy, to be replaced
But the Machine of existence seems endless
Time is a construct, it one day will shatter
If we are so arrogant, if we have such hubris
As to believe we are of epic importance
Why do many think our numbers don't matter
Assuming the species is forever but not
The eternal machine has kept count
When it reaches a certain number
Its gears then will grind to full stop
Then every organic machine will end
Our human species will no longer exist
Without sound nor obituary notice
The days will end, run out of tomorrows
Yes, it will come when we no longer exist
But will it be a great day or one of great sorrow
Our actions will speak to the answer
Were we the cure
Or were we the cancer?
