Shining light dons overhead
Grimbles and grumbles gone off to bed
Missiles and weapons are blocked, locked and dead
Never a word harsh to hear near was said.
Flight to the moon and the sky's left behind
Space is a world to be molded by mind
Not but a soul screams "there's too much to find"
Scraped are the worst from a crisp orange rind.
Where is this world, this utopia, this place?
Where not but a soul has a shout left to make
Where not but a child is free to behave
In every which way makes the soul the most brave.
Too often the enlightened are stuck in this view
That all are like they, know they not they're the few
There's too much to scream and to shout and to hear
That's harsh when near to the ear, bringing fear.
Stay clear.
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