air we breath
corroded by hate
the venom's bite pumped by heart
searing blood invading body, coursing vein
inciting rage, extreme acts unwarranted

grey, lost upon the world
grey, of dawn or dusk
signalling change though no more
bound instead by wretched cycle

where once was grey, now
black and white confused,
convincing everyone be right in cause
while all in parallel to err

hands, forgetting heart and ruled by mind corrupt
to be as children again, before ruin
innocent, curious to ask why

such horror to inspire and commit
cursed to look upon us
fear and wonder, admiration
false ideals the
greatest influence of their lives
robbing children their valour
by example we steal from them
most precious

ours, theirs
all victims, all destined to
victimize
tiny robots programmed to destroy
idea not their own
raised by fools, to become fools and raise fools

killing by vote and bullet
machine guns spewing streams of ballot
missile's payload concentrate of contrast opinion
artillery ordinance a rain of propaganda
bullets and bombs, on which scrawled
faith, race, and land
allegiance not to that which is them, but
to hollow party of privilege
for the sake of argument, not that which is right

teddybear victims,
torn, stained, growing
to ****—being killed before growing
made to suffer by dusty sin
like One-Third, atoning for the world

pray it not be them who judge as angels
recalling the misdeeds which hath befallen
innocent head

if had led the world
their demise, too grotesque for fiction
so far beyond cruel
most evil capable of their doing
might never see act

horror from depth so dark
drawn from plane beyond
to leave a scar on our own, a stain of remembrance
impossible to wash, despite deed's height
an ultimate violation of peace
so vile to make cringe the most stalwart
demanding shook from imagining

a moral guard must rouse
to stem atrocities' tide
volunteers, sacrifice ultimate and willing
an opposition to the perverse
who shrink from knight's brilliance
from that which is pure and valorous

soaring atop great raptor
choosing not to combat
but charge toward offering of self
for names unknown and person unmet

a breed rare, seeking neither fame nor thrill
but peace
to complete circle black that grey might return
that recurrence might see not light,
and chain be struck, obliterated

the highest of the low, display as peacock,
fanning to impress as they
from regal chairs rage debate, throwing a coward's stone
to err in belief knights harken their call
nay, never to those too crisp to combat
but, for them teddybears—
stuffing split, eye stitch torn, limp in anguish arms
never the silk necklace capable of sounding horn
knights heed only unspoken call

in defence of those without means,
incapable of further flight, to their arms they fold
being that in violent acquiesce of peace
that by threat of demise, and dauntless to see through
a commit to act of highest love
they might conjure to form the hope of hopes
that might rise—
the sepulchral dawn