the words are carved in stone and speech,
a universal, moral reach,
a solemn promise: "never again,"
to break the cycle of human pain.

five centuries have turned the page,
a dark and unrelenting age.
the creed is preached by scribes and priests,
while mankind feasts upon its beasts.

the conquistador, with cross and blade,
on promises of light betrayed,
cried "god and glory!" as they fell,
a universal, burning hell.

the fields of europe, soaked and red,
with mountains of the silent dead.
the treaty signed, the war to cease,
a fragile, broken, short-lived peace.

the chain, the whip, the auction block,
the shattering, systemic shock.
a doctrine preached of chosen races,
on countless, far-off, suffering faces.

the radio’s hate, the machete's fall,
the world just watched, beyond the wall.
the ash-filled air, the factory's breath,
that mechanized, efficient death.

so where's the imperative, the call?
it stumbles, struggles, fails, and falls.
it seems a dream the heart conceives,
while history, relentless, weaves

its tapestry of blood and fear,
the same old story, year on year.
a ghost of hope, a bitter phrase,
through all of humankind's dark days.

yet still we speak it, hold it fast,
a truth to anchor from the past.
not as a lie, but as a spark,
a compass pointing through the dark.

for if we let the ideal die,
and accept the unwept, unanswered cry,
then we admit the dark has won,
and every horror's yet to come.

so speak it though your voice may break,
for humanity’s own sake.
the vow unmet is not a lie,
but something we must still apply.
the work unfinished, not undone,
beneath a cold and silent sun.