Beyond the dead across a stump of dark,
a fervent splash of sun to dry the rain,
each ray quieting the raging world behind
giving tranquil rest to all restless ones
that come in search of peace from bristly boars,
the torrent sordid wars of sleeping men,
who puncture holes in souls time and time again.
Freedom from the jeering guns that glare,
and bombs that boom and soak the street in gloom.
The Spirit waits to grant the weary repose
from humans who grow more soulless by the day,
treading upon the weak and unsheltered
tightfisted cowards who have lost their way,
abandoning conscience for a calloused pride
The hour of their silence shall strike soon,
and justice will rise like the tides from the moon.
Source