Separate reflections on WWII and on 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.