A soliloquy of disharmony from the maimed-unnamed soldier foretells so well
that the rhapsodic roar of war is a chorus of the purist gore from the chaotic choir of hell.
This is for You who betray the universal truth
of love,
death
and youth.
How dare you preach of ceaseless peace when the peace you reach for
Is beseeched by deceased chess pieces upon the beach floor.
Naive but brave boyish pawns with their heads and their knees in the sand,
who faithfully faced the hellfire that razed their grandiose last stand
into the scorched nightmare-land for your abyss-seducing plan.
Not even the darkest Devil in hell could quell the ****** surging swell.
They’re the lost stanzas of a forgotten symphony
conducted within the cacophony of a coffins divinity,
the pawn pieces on a puppet string whose grip they can’t untwine
from the very least among us;
the desirous tyrants with their puppet-master minds.
If their dark fantasies should not cease to feast upon the nature of the beast,
better to betray the bark of false amity lest the hex of vanity refuses to decay,
as the trivialised archetype of destruction is the civilised man of modern day
who is sleeping on his sanity with eyes of pride brightly wide awake.
With pipedreams of eternal peace at the feet of our blood-stained door,
visioning winning with a checkmate or a dead queen on the floor.
Only when the once wilting wild-flowers grow free through the cracks in the board,
will we see through the eye of the beholder the first morn of the freely dreamed dawn.
And in fairness to the youth, whom uncouthly search for truth,
with their own dreams that gleam of drinking water from fresh streams,
sleeping in a meadow of bliss beneath the bereaved stars.
Their time has finally come to strike in the nail of change,
to see the coffin lowered with the ageing ancient ways,
but we can’t have faith in change lest its paved the saviours way