When I see tyrants wage outrageous wars,
The blood of serfs grim spilled on fields of scorn,
Or mother’s unplumbed tears when bairn they bore
Are rendered limb from limb in battle torn.
When I see dauntless youth rude hurled in graves,
Crass carnage heaped upon chaste mortal coil
Or see that precious blood and breath they gave
Entombed in darkness on some foreign soil;
‘Tis then of mans’s humanity I ask
That such an earthly scourage be wrought by God
Who’s likened image wears a woeful mask
Wherein all leered compassion seems a fraud;
I see a world enslaved by vengeful pride…
‘Til throngs of mushroom clouds do burst and rise.
© Loubert S Suddaby. All Rights Reserved.