When Doves Cry
There is a sadness in the heart of peace
An emptiness of bloodless, toneless hearts
Left stagnant in the aftermath of hope
Yet still we wave our tattered silent flags.
A rustle in the garden bids us – still!
Though greyish peace resides upon the soil
Through which the budding saplings dare to peek
To glimpse the golden hope of daybreaks dream.
A dove, eternal symbol of our hearts,
Encrusted in detritus of our souls
Lays motionless surrounded by both flags
Consumed by demons choking on its truth
For symbols are the bane of mortal men
The sound of crying doves, our greatest sin.
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