Blighted
Whispers from wine-coloured moonlight have now
blighted spring-fresh grass.
No-one will pass by this flood\'s blistering chorus of
frustrated past outcry.
The waters stay silted with years-long, war-seared
bitterness as each ill-timed
peace talk crumbles to finish killed by conclusions
of coated top-brass.
Dreams of the tortoise-shelled butterfly days faded
long before turbulent rapids
drew young men and women toward battles over
naught but misapplied fears.
Lifetimes float hormonally by in riverside history of
pride\'s facaded need for action.
Forces, press-mustered are taught blind allegiance
to naught but mindless leads.
Listening I hear victims\' bubbling exits still weeping
regrets for conceding to hate.
Wisps of blood-to-come days surface from tainted
mud war-soiled and mouldering.
What happens when, hit by blows of violence peace
can no longer struggle for gain ?
In reddened undertow pitiful woes rise from those
called battle-stressed soldiers.