are there fortunes still
after all the roses have withered
is there hope and good will
when every herb has blown away
can anyone ever smile still
after all the birds have flown away
why are so many hearts
some minds not bothered
when war displaces peace
with such gruesome cruel display
shouldn't the world cry out
when horrid war kills and rapes
sisters and mothers
why don't we fall down with grief
when war destroys
fathers and brothers
after every battle
can there still be fortune
when war has ripped out hearts
can anything ever be good
should something be redeemed
torturing innocent souls
those fortunate things we knew
torn from the innate whole
leaving bleeding pieces
believing broken bits
are saturated with what was good
infatuation is what it seems
destroying mother earth
perhaps earth's crust
shall split wide open
evict dead and buried soldiers
while the desolate moon
moans with absolute grief
while the impetuous sun
petulantly smolders
should we bow down to war
what and how about good faith
supporting some honest belief
what and how about
all that horrific gore
more propaganda
smeared as truth
can fortune ever be found
fearing war's horrid wrath
in sordid blood soaked ground
perhaps morbid prophets are right
sounding foolish when they preached
screeching about kill and maim and smite
just cut out war's flaming tongue
gouge out your lying eyes
trying war is simply wrong
screaming like an ambivalent devil
all its unfortunate dishevelled lies

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