Graphic by Illa




War is sick, cruel, and harsh,

A bedlam of torrid tones,

A putrid crimson marsh,

A symphony of moans and groans.

It is callous, murderous thought,

Vicious contempt and hate,

It is an Angel in a furnace caught,

With a Devil for a mate.

It is filth and rotting waste,

Pain and death and fear,

It is goodness forever defaced,

And bitterness shed as a tear.

It is Natureís way on the Earth,

Else Godís sordid, mysterious mirth.


© 18 November 03 Colin F Jones


Graphic by Illa

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