Power War, Not Holy War. Poem by Tor Magnor Solvang

A land of stars, a land of prayers,
Whispers rise, fueled by fears.
One seeks control, the other aid,
A game of thrones, carefully played.

They speak of right, a chosen few,
While shadows lengthen, stained with blue.
But under words of sacred fire,
Lies hunger deep, a raw desire.

Not holy call, no righteous fight,
Just power's pull, in darkest night.
A selfish grab, a twisted claim,
To bend the world, and speak its name.

No war is pure, no flag so bright,
Can hide the wrong, or make it right.
The earth is wide, for all to share,
No room for hate, no need to dare
To steal another's sun and sky,
For fragile peace, is worth the try.

T.M.Solvang