In flood, the angels weep – from dour skies, in ash and taupe, washed with claret and given to tides in crimson. In prayer, I grieve for the misadventure of mans sanguine endeavour, as would be this crusade.
Victory – an affliction against God, without conciliation for light and sunk to caliginous woe. These fallen, in unanimity, lost to life and gone – what price such victory as calls to thee?
In cataclysm of firmament, the stars dwindle while the sun may ever be gone. In spin, the wretched fray – under barrage and fuel to the loss of dreams.
Such stench as viscid air, in truce, the halted rant of thunder, before tempest – as lost to melee and squall. I tread this field, as once of flowers, now of blood – and find testament to the futility of man.
How triumphant the fume of battle, what glory this to be? Would accord not be lost to the altercation of opinion, peace may reign – and yet those now fallen, know peace.
What of love – and those who have lost, what now the lover and all? I speak of the mother, the father, the sister and brother – what now for those that would mourn these casualties of war?
Under siege and as would be sin to the moment, I covet that touch as would mend my broken soul. In petition of your image, the subjugation of my heart, as would this sword bring conquest of worlds.
Once as man, soaked by tragedy and tempered by hardship, and as now the child, I cry in tears.
For a moment now, I too am fallen, lost to tender gaze and the intimacy of form. In retreat and without defence, I hide within you and seek the clemency of love.
These crimes of dominion, in contest of my humanity, bring dissension to my being. Would that you could forgive, may bring flight to your grace, and so the nobility of silence shall be.
Victory – an affliction against God, without conciliation for light and sunk to caliginous woe. These fallen, in unanimity, lost to life and gone – what price such victory as would end all love!