A WAR TO REMEMBER
We wake to the morning—
and find ourselves mourning.
The Powerful Incense or Priest that once stilled the air is gone.
You leave our peace forlorn.
Our peace has been lost;
the atmosphere is full of mules.
I thought wars had rules.
So this is not a war—it’s a massacre.
Blood will flow by the acre;
the air will thicken with massacre,
because the Incense of Peace has been massacred.
This war is measured in mar.
And the only way we’re taught to stop this war
is to war.
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