I can feel my heart,
beating.
But sometimes I wish it was beating,
A little faster.
And other times I wish,
There was no beat at all.

Amidst the flowers they all lay,
Amongst a sky loomed in grey.
Soil seeps and weeps the liquid,
Seamed in bodies and tears vivid.
Meadows are violent graveyards now,
Misting the death defying vow.
War causes misery and terror,
Wallowing of sorrow for the horror.
Yet we live in what's called peace,
Yet we live in a world on least.
Do we live in death,
Does death define life's worth?