rage draws red lines
across fields of old snow
all those staged insistent signs
new blood spills freely
nobody really knows truth
as far as truth and propaganda go
everything is uncouth calamity
so with this late winter storm
bombs and death raining down
a low front with a morbid stench
frozen dead men are splayed
along with insolence in ragged trenches
exposed corpses displayed like stoic mosaics
torn and reposed in bitter tank tracks
forlorn as far as anything could know
everything is stark insanity
dark Orcs commanded to not think
ordered to attack and perform
hope and honour long dead now
only butchery and hate remains
so the hateful story always goes
these distasteful frigid times
of incorrigible destruction and incessant war
those despots making plans and more
guardedly perched in some far-off luxury spa
ensconced in some covert gold leaf mansion
drinking American whiskey and Russian vodka
quaffing heads off glasses full of zealous froth
crazed and polluted by war crimes and torture
drunk on barrels of ice cold Guinness draft
so much political need and monetary greed
so much for peace or rightful forfeiture
this war thought and heartless creed
deemed as military craft
while guts and blood
leave red hues on frozen fields
rearranged brains splattered
chewed up in shattered woods
blinded innocence and murder
litter torn up villages and city streets
so now survival is mere existence
how can hope weather another tragic winter storm
when there is no peace or compromise
now armed resistance is the crippled norm
how can forgiveness and hope ever rise
all those echoing cries from hapless dead
all these acerbic horrid bits and acidic acrid ashes
left by artful war's destructive stead

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