War and Chaos

When war struck, a cold, cold hand

reaching to pluck the tendrils of human hearts

a vein of the country burst.

It burst, sweeping them away

off the island and over the sea

in maniac thirst.

It burst with no beauty;

it splattered sickeningly

against the hearts of those beloved.

It struck in the form of spears

attacking newborn babies

forcing us, grieving, to bend.

The vein burst, carrying hope,

and joy

and love

away.

Few were left to stand up

but they hobbled on

refusing to see their country forsaken.

Liberty joined hands with them;

but to this day, we still pray

for the families of the fallen.

The hand of war,

though now receded

has left its fingers lingering.

Imagine a lawless culture--

People shouting, "Liberty!"

But are they really free?

They're enslaved to their every want

Enslaved to their chaos and tumult

And enslaved to their raging hearts.

And all the while, they are binded

To the encroaching chains

threaded through their tumultuous arts.