By Andrew R. Duckworth
Endless pursuits of knowledge and power
Made the minutes shrink in that hour,
That hour that man was building their tower,
And never did they think to ask
How wicked it may be to bask
In such a prideful and doomed task,
That task that was always sure to fail
As Knowledge wavers and grows stale
And steps leading up become so frail.
Surely they had been forewarned
By God’s word and Heaven’s horns
Engraved in hearts since they were born,
But man is always wanting more,
Like Faustus clamoring for hell’s whore,
Not bothering to look to Heaven’s shore.
Repetition comes creeping in.
If it was done once, we do it again,
Boasting in our greatest sin.