(Soldiers and Children of War)
Long days gone, long nights perilous in their wake, smoky haze for days to come,
Lives blotted, eyes forlorn, raging storms in the heart of the land as too outside
Do we live but to pick up the pieces, weave minds, build homes, and heal bones,
Dreaming and living, re-living the dreams, of a life gone past
or does it all start from tomorrow?
Is there an end in sight, oh men in shirts planning and signing off battles on desks
Have you strategically drawn up sweaty palms nursing broken homes
Stringing bloody pearls, patching gory wounds, oh their weary existence
Living on puddles, river water, running red for days of sorrow, miles from home
Broken men, weeping women, lost children building villages?
Who absolves whom when eyes and voices plead and hands pray for mercy
Old folk, with the weak swallowed, the fallen to be hidden by dusty mounds
Will this soon be forgotten with long smoky days and haunting vivid nights
Or is it a life time with the turning season but with no hope for me, for us,
Oh! men in crisp shirts planning and scheming on your desks or heavens above?
Tell me, who else sees what I see, where do I search for those seeking the day
When broken homes are nursed by healed bones, gory minds building villages
Broken men and weeping women searching for things they once knew
When red rivers of sorrow shimmer in the opaque silver moon with a vibrant new life
A smoky lazy haze welcoming the end in sight...just heavens above?
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