Left on this planet alone.
Crawling, flying, swimming -- they thrived in swarms.
Waking, hunting, nurturing  -- they cared for their own.
Eating, surviving, and multiplying -- an easy life.
The creatures knew only this;
the light will rise, and the light will set.

The virus crept in. 
the tide rose; grew to waves. 
Shook hands, spoke truces
with the underlying intentions of destruction.
The line was drawn -- worlds were divided.
But the light still rose, and the light still set.

There were homes burned and cut.
Families were ripped apart.
The virus took over -- killing thousands.
There was no protest; no picket sign.
No matter which way they tried to run,
the light will still rise, the light will still set.

Someone, somewhere, along the way,
decided it was his land to claim.
“I was here first, the rest have followed.”
One statement created wars.
Through the wars,
the light rose, the light set.

The creatures could do nothing,
their will was no longer.
They hid in the reservations,
they ran from the pavement.
The taunting thought of
the light always rising, and the light always setting.