The sight of blood, savage limbs,
Perpendicular glossary to sky,
Why so symbolic could it be, so divine?
Melting skulls, haste tongues,
Humble severed from commands,
Is it a war zone at its end, or something like slim disease to propose?
A wise man once said,
That the term Love, Should never be thrown around if;
You can never feel or distort from it.
My question to the wise man,
When will war end,
But I never got to propose such a question.
Young brother young brother I see we are close to cross that mountain,
No matter your age origin or color, or creed.
I consider you my young brothers.