The passionate plea of harmony
sobs at war's door.
Collapsed and broken down,
bruised knees
and ****** tears.
All the salt has been washed away
with the desperate sorrow
of begging for mercy.
There hasn't been a day yet
where war has turned the ****
and greeted harmony.
In fact, he hasn't even noticed
the frantic knocking.
Harmony's knuckles have been
ripped and torn,
bones exposed
as he slams his soul
over and over
onto the steel door.
Please, just let me in.
Just listen to me.
Just for one moment.
It would only take one moment
to show you all the logic.

But that doesn't matter.
War, hatred, violence and carelessness
all sit together
behind the door
are at the other side of the house.

Harmony imagines them
drinking whiskey and laughing
at his far away pleas.
The last standing man
who won't give up.
Respect had been there.
Compassion had been there.
Love had even been there.
But they all gave up.
They walked away to be
together elsewhere.
Where they would be listened to.

But did you know?
Violence, war, hatred and carelessness
are drinking no whiskey.
They are hiding in the farthest room,
huddling.
They are afraid.
They have been fear all alone.