I don’t know why the world is weary now,
weighed down by fighting,
torching fires ignite huge flames of discord.
I try to look away, but those images keep repeating in my mind,
tortured souls that once fought wars,
now lying in tombs that some may never know or hear of,
buried under the earth’s hardened soil.
How did they die when there is so much to live for?
I think countries are broken up for a reason,
Maybe from zealous men who reek of scents
Someday, to regret.
No warlords have ever died without guilt or shame,
without innocent blood in their hands,
No warlords have ever gone to their graves
knowing they chose war,
to destroy peace.
No warlords live with rested minds.
A story that just might save the future generation.