The Lamentation Of Doray Poem by Max Gatrell

And as Doray began to speak,
A tear appeared upon his cheek,
His emerald eyes could not contain,
Those drops that fell like acid rain.
'We tried so hard to make it better,
But we only made it worse,
That in our way I'm loath to say,
We placed upon this World a curse.
No gracious action could redeem,
The murder of the Golden dream,
There's no more rules for us to break,
So from the Golden dream we wake,
No new pleasures worth exploring,
So little left for us to do,
What once excited is now boring,
Nothing's worthy of taboo,
The heretic has found religion,
In the churches juristriction,
A vile tirade or imprecation,
Either will escape derison,
Providing there's some slight conviction,
It will pass as benediction,
In this world gone mad.
Overwhelming industry,
Advancements of machinary,
In gaining such efficacy,
Have we lost integrity?
Unfortunately we have.
When there's nothing left to burn,
What will move the Earth to turn,
When we're sated by our lot,
What drove us once is soon forgot,
In lacking passion to rebel,
We find ourselves in deepest Hell,
And thus there's no more left to say,
The lamentation of Doray.