Shall we as brothers locked arm and arm

March over the cliff ears muffed hearing

Solitary propaganda through clipped ears

Indistinct sounds of muffled mutterings

Perchance just serendipitous, impromptu

Guided to a chance reunion with destiny

Meanwhile in the eternal cosmos a God

Hopefully has his finger on the button

And in a moment of clarity says, “Stop.”

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In nine lines---just nine

In nine lines---just nine lines---a harrowing and horrifying process gives way to a sense of hope.  This reminds me of the first movement of a classical sonata, in which a first theme gives way to a second.  You have written this poem well!