To Have Died With No Peace

I’ll wait yet another day for such a love to survive.
One that will remember that we are all of the same body, which thrives together within love and patience, yet will bleed, suffer and die alone.

It’s afar in the desert, but some want it here.
I hope’t it stays away, and that we’ll be wiser for it.

Blood in the desert,
A changed key to the answers to the answer that was never right.
Those who held the trust of Nations and respect of the World squelched the dissent and portrayed its love and accomplishments.
We all believed, or so they’d want us to remember.
Those who forced the momentum to the wheel were never punished; rewards of gold and praise filled their homes, their bloodlines and their egos.
It should have been the blood that they spilt, and nothing else.
It should have been their blood that split, and no one else.

I’m sorry for what we allowed.
So young and naïve; I loved the wars.
Now I can see the lands, although from up above.
That fight is not who I am; I can’t wear those boots that now bear the fear, the dead and unhealed.

On the wings of a machine, down I gaze upon these men who spirit and lives – wasted on lies.
I pray for those gone, to rest in peace.
And for those left, just to rest; never the same and never to be young again.

Can’t you imagine the torment of the dead? It’s beyond me.
To have believed, in a lie.
To have fought, and take lives.
To have died with no peace.

…
Remembering a decade of blood that we’re trying to bury in the sands brings me to hope for a Hell for those who love the lie that stole lives, belief and peace.