Dystopia seems the net result
Of failure of utopian vision,
Utopias worthy of derision
But not inherently at fault.
A man is made to somersault
Over despair, with indecision
Twixt threat of hell or premonition
Of heav’n not breached by catapult.
The instruments of war prevail
In earthly life; but to attain
Heaven thereby were course insane
Predestined of itself to fail;
Concomitant, though it impale
My flesh traversing this terrain
Let me, for soul’s sake, act humane
Though right’s dull map is felt by braille.