They waited for the world to end,

       to wipe out tribulations.

They called out for the Masters aid,

       as promised in Revelations.

 

The morning dawned in tired repose,

       just as it had before.

The day they said would be the last,

       raged on in bloody war.

 

Starving children, scattered souls,

       feared not , ‘The End of Time’.

Yet scraped their way on crippled knees,

       through blood, and death, and grime.

　

In search of only food and hope,

      their bodies racked with pain.

The sun shone on their bloodied hands,

      and the world was just the same.