By Benjamin Shapiro
There’s this book, you know,

They may turn it into a show, 

But for now, it’s just a book. 

It’s plot is worth a look:

A species that cannot 

Deal with its natural lot

Decides to just take,

A most resourceful rape. 

They build up and up

Overflowing their cup,

And the planet that is home 

Begins to become 

A total shithole,

But they can’t be told 

That they’re to blame, 

For they’ll just scream a deitic name

And say it’s all part of His plan

And is not the fault of species: man. 

And their homes grow

As their home shows

That it is gonna die,

Leading one to wonder why,

Just… why. 

The book stops there,

On a crossroads to nowhere,

As if in this blank scope 

We are to be filled with hope. 
But we can stop pretending

That we don’t know the ending,

For even given half a chance,

Mankind will to Hell’s doorstep dance.

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