Bonus Poem: The Choice

I sense change on the air.
There is a scent,
metallic like blood,
but bland like untilled soil.
And with it,
the faint hint of fertile ground beneath.

But strongest of all,
I fear,
are the tastes,
of death and grief,
between here and there.

Humanity must rise,
raze corruption from reality,
seek change anew.
Not because it should.
Nor even for sake of proof.
But because it must,
or else perish.

Sirens and screams,
can birth wonder and dreams,
as easily as they might,
turn greatness
to nightmares that fleam.

But to do either,
Humanity must decide:
Fight and revive?
Or commit suicide?

The choice is ours.

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