It is war time, I suppose.
Gunshots fill long silences,
Too many bodies to be disposed.
All war is is a virus,
Planted in the cores of our withering bones,
So shut your mouth and hold onto your woes.

Mercy? In this household?
It’s so absurd it’s pitiful.
Mercy is one to thole,
And you are only a criminal.
Come, to the store we go;
We wouldn’t want to miss out on our rations.

“Treat your neighbor as if he was your son!”
The politician shouts.
“This war can only be stopped by love!”
Is said in random spouts.
But our ears are forever closed,
For, wherever love reigns, so does blood.

These spoken words are envious!
They talk exclusively of life and peace
And, yet, they wait and see
Who’s heart will first cease.
So I beg of you, speakers
To tell me how love is not in vain!

Your newly founded silence is enough,
Gunshots systematically go on and off,
I know there is no meaning in your bluff.
A child now makes their final cough,
So you bow your heads
And bring your hands up.

They pray to God for Mercy,
But Mercy has long left;
Of which brings forth controversy
About if His power had been finally spent.
And when the heaven’s fires fall down unto us,
All we can do is scream and combust.

Oh God, Where are you?
Children lay unresponsive in their own blood,
Some with tongues of blue,
And yet you can only create mud?
I wonder sometimes if you ran,
Too weak to stand up to your own mess.

I am not surprised,
Nor am I scared,
But, rather, synchronized
With my dying mare.
Allow me, father, to close my watering eyes;
For God’s Mercy only comes when you die.