'' The Master Of Death '' Poem by Bri Mar

Our ancestors tried,
So many of them died,
Trying to make peace not war,
On the goodwill of human's they relied,
Today we're still asking what for.

With intelligence to the fore,
We vow no more,
Then tomorrow the wars start again,
Is living in peace to much of a chore,
Do we really know how to refrain?

Is living that bad,
That it drives us all mad,
As each other we try to outdo,
If we'd only speak there's peace to be had,
But we're unable to see the talks through.

By killing each other,
The truth we smother,
It's brutality and butchery in one,
Each one killed is just A.N. Other
Will our madness ever be done?

Genocide is rife,
It cut's like a knife,
As we murder both son and daughter,
We know nothing of the meaning of life,
Are we but lambs to the slaughter

Refusing to be drawn,
Our creator looks on,
That free will he now sees as a curse,
His decision is? it's time we were gone,
Before things can get any worse.

It makes him scream,
Us thinking we're supreme,
As he sees us extract that last breath,
Peace I'm afraid is no more than a dream,
The Human Being was,

‘' The Master Of Death ‘'