For those upon it, there is no escape
It spins, woven perfectly, a planet
However dangerous there is lavish grace
Plentiful, opulent, there is life abundant
Even if death will make demands
Still it is beautiful with every taste
A blue green globe spinning in space
The life so verdant, so rich, so full
It fulfills life's needs, relentlessly
The hunger passes, life endures
Even as pestilence shows his hand
The harvest begins, as the reaper culls
Life ends for the newly damned
For those remaining
They know that there is a cycle
Life ends, but more replace it, embrace it
Existence offers no survivors
Only generations to come
Crops once in drought
Now washed in rains
The cycle isn't lost or won
It endures
It grows
And it remains
“I see, in place of that empty figment of one linear history which can be kept up only by shutting one’s eyes to the overwhelming multitude of facts, the drama of a number of mighty Cultures, each springing with primitive strength from the soil of a mother-region to which it remains firmly bound throughout it’s whole life-cycle; each stamping its material, its mankind, in its own image; each having its own idea, its own passions, its own life, will and feelings, its own death. Here indeed are colours, lights, movements, that no intellectual eye has yet discovered.
Here the Cultures, peoples, languages, truths, gods, landscapes bloom and age as the oaks and the pines, the blossoms, twigs and leaves - but there is no ageing “Mankind.” Each Culture has its own new possibilities of self-expression which arise, ripen, decay and never return. There is not one sculpture, one painting, one mathematics, one physics, but many, each in the deepest essence different from the others, each limited in duration and self-contained, just as each species of plant has its peculiar blossom or fruit, its special type of growth and decline.”
