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Poem

Hoist our flag high, our spirits taken,
from the very foundation that was shaken. 
And all the colors we know and love,
rain down upon us from above. 

No quarter for those bleeding to death,
stitched up wounds and one final breath.
The smell of charred remains this night,
is unquestioned as our skin is white.

The battle of blood and diamonds ceases,
yet the casualties of this war increases. 
A torn up man who looks for his son,
dries his tears and drops his gun. 

Flames burn on through the city streets,
women and children wrapped up in sheets. 
Even though there is not one passer by,
their world is emptied fully when they die. 

Brothers who are forced to split apart,
their ideas different with the same heart.
Now pitted against each other to kill,
is just another lonely grave to fill.

Our world is in the hands of judges, 
watchers of men that hold no grudges.
Remember this one forecast of the hour,
and those who really did have the power.

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