How the season of spring loses its charm
when peace’s child has a broken arm
The fire of war the skies and fields comb
in bloody violence and broken bones
The alarms on the television streak the heart
Chilling is the vision of cities torn apart
O hear, when the despairing night comes
on the backburner are hope’s little suns
Ignorance and cruelty are power’s disgrace
that does not bear the brunt of destruction’s face
It is the orphan, the widow and the mutilated soldier
that can no longer prize life’s lost cheer
The wilderness that domination over others seeks
has wracked civilisation’s towers with creaks
But the only redemption for the world is in forgetting
after the initial shock, in being preoccupied by mundane things
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