What Ails The Age Poem by G. Newton V. Chance

What ails the age, that man to beast must turn;
At this late stage, the twenty first century,
The more we teach, the less we seem to learn
Of sincere love to ease the misery.

Why all the war, the senseless violence,
The nuclear arms, the suicidal bombs?
This trade in war and weapons makes no sense;
We need to build more homes instead of tombs.

When will the greed and prejudices end,
Will mankind never tire of bloodshed?
Will God, another prophet have to send
To teach, we need the living not the dead;

That after all the fighting all these years,
All we have gained is loss... and lots of tears.

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