This is a recipe for war.
You take two countries, maybe more.
Combine plenty of hate and abhorrence,
With a large amount of ignorance.
You will need missiles, perhaps some scuds
For this recipe has its share of blood.
Mix in guns to shoot and knives to slice
An unending supply of each should suffice.
Now add some tanks and boats and planes;
A dash of death and loads of pain.
Then take some bombs and let them fall
Blending together one and all.
Throw in babies and let them die
Moms and Dads and watch them cry.
Add terror with sorrow intervening
For without sorrow...can war have meaning?
Fold in people...then more people still
Keep adding until no one’s left to kill.
This recipe will serve, I’ve heard it said.
Everyone in the country...till they are dead.
This old recipe is filled with our past mistakes
But we haven’t learned from them as more wars we make.
Because just when you think you’ve had your fill of war
We’ll find two new countries, maybe more...
Warmongers love to say, "we
Warmongers love to say, "we won the war", but truth is, there is no such thing as winning for anyone when there is war...there is only the feeding of more war.
Great truths here.
...
...and he asked her, "do you write poetry? Because I feel as if I am the ink that flows from your quill."
"No", she replied, "but I have experienced it. "