Always have and always will,
down my spine,
I feel a chill.
If the mushroom clouds should bloom,
on this world,
all will be doomed.
Towards the subterranean shelters,
all will scurry,
helter skelter.
Safe within earth's bowels retained,
yet human decency,
will cease to remain.
In suffering, hardship, when life is torn,
towards each other,
we treat with scorn.
Death, destruction and pandemonium,
the rotting corpses,
smell of ammonium.
Successive future species will wonder,
"why could humans,
not live with each other?"
Unaware that their own seeds of hate,
have just been sown,
to meet our fate.
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