20 Sep Posthumous Sons

Nothing has dismissed this spirit of the last year,
The 20th century reigns unwelcome unto today,
None have halted the advance of powers that halts
Which begets hatred in hatred and fear for fear,
Machine of dark genius got stuck along the way
Retrofitting humanitas into a press for all faults.

If man is an animal, as such he should be treated;
If a viceroy, then his fallen demesne he must attend,
And this canvas of Earth suits not death-derived paints.
But an era of rebels and false prophets is yet completed.
When will a man bring the last century to an end?
Who will it be to make English a language of saints?