When
When all our anger’s overturned and innocents are free at last from bloody sword and hellish burn, when wars are relics of the past, when Man’s uncertain enmity presents, in breach, from evil’s womb and love becomes our legacy as Mars is sealed in Satan’s tomb, a marble, gilded monument, inscription etched with golden rhyme, will sing the dirge, the grim lament to chronicle, to rue the time ... when eyes beheld what souls abhor, when children slept in arms of war. ~ Dean Neighbors ~ |
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