The Wages Of Sin Poem by Juan Olivarez

Sand stained red, with the wages of sin
Soaked with the blood of innocent men
Skeletons of machines, dead to the core
Lining the roads, covered with gore.

Treacherous sands where death lies in wait
In the middle of nowhere, by hell's open gate
Many have walked in this valley of shadow
Numerous unknown and many that we know.

Death draws no distinction, partial he's not
He'll take anybody, to their funeral plot
You cannot fight him, you cannot win
He is the ultimate fate of all men.

Is it really worth it, when will we learn
Not to kill, to maim, ravage and burn
Is man the ultimate plague on the earth?
If so when we are gone, what's our ultimate worth?

We fight with our neighbours, we fight with each other,
We fight with our mothers, fathers, and brothers,
This cannot go on, the madness must end
We must do penance for the wages of sin.

4/19/10 29 palms ca.