War

Of all those hateful people, of all those blood filled wars.
But only with both combined, will blood be truly shed.
With only the pain of exclusion, and the hunger of not being fed.
With the horror of a war being lost, and the cries of men, long dead.
And though the peace may rise, at last, for a very unlucky few.
The war may only be beginning, as soon as they seem to end.
Perhaps, for not the same people, twice, but for some, the battle’s beginning.
Across land or sea, not matter, for war can come to strike.
Anywhere that hatred and shed blood exists, anywhere that knows hunger, or grief or pain.
This makes no where safe, in this cruel world, for no peace lasts long.
Before the hungry groan, and the pain filled scream,
Before the grief stricken cry and the haters hate.
Before the first drop of blood is shed, and the war begins again.