Not greatly have we ever perceived from this realm,
No torment you feel as you do not bleed in them,
But they bleed in their kin, your countless sins,
Spreading peace, and behind hiding the black emblem?
In the stone valley you strolled like a ruthless hound,
Painting it with your own blood, what have you found?
Seizing mother’s juvenile, no heart you made smile,
Crushed the florets, left as felt to death you were bound,
Besides the graves you say, “May the souls rest in peace”,
Could you give rest to souls, to their rumpled lees?
In the name of glory, your world will become a history,
After this mayhem won’t blow the untainted breeze.
What to be done and what not to be done to last?
No forgiveness for the blood you have shed aghast!
As down I write, rage blows and my lone heart it strikes,
Closing eyes I see, your creed burning in hells vast.
For every wrong you see, a retort in process,
For a spark you see, fire burning out the grasses,
But if we break this chain, ignore in this blame game,
Fire will loose vigor, we be intact like Moses.
The Poet: Mr. Craxout
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