Civil War

A child or two, aged three or four,

lay in a early grave

And men just past puberty

drink and brag

of how brave

they were in defense

of what is right to some leader,

church, or queen,

and fail to see the destruction

that lay in between

the defense of right

and retaliation for the same.

And young men on the other side

must defend their rights

their pride

Call attention to their cause,

And deepen scars too old to heal

of resurrected wrongs

to people

who's names are etched on walls

as memorials,

reminders

of why this can't all stop.

And yet the children who have risen

look down upon

this earthly

prison

and stand beneath

a flag -- united ... and hope.

They wonder why their parent's cry

For their beliefs

their children die,

and when their names are cause

to riot, rape, and break laws

of both God and man,

the children in heaven weep

for it is not for them

that blood will seep

deep into the cracks of the cobble stones.

But for things that were

long ago

that men can't put to end.

For country, God, monarchy,

pride, they'll kill a friend,

a neighbor who deep inside

is no different than the man he was before,

the birth,

the beginning,

of this deadly civil war.

©Inkfeather 5-93 NYNY

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