Through fallen leaves,
November bares the darkest scars.
Two generations felled by war and
The drum of pomp that led them underground,
Silent and broken.
How be unmoved by an ocean of blood,
And un-pumped volumes of life and love in human veins?
A loss that left a century of children
Bereft of comfort and a legacy
Of survivors crazed by grief.
Hope can recover, just,
But some tide must turn.
Moral progress not falter
Fear of each other, vanquish,
Trust rule this new domain.
Easy to forget what precious truth
Human Sacrifice brought:
That consciousness
Remains both a gift
And a curse
If we could break the trance
Uphold a beacon - find
A masthead on which to hang
The brightest sail -
Then the unfelt pain of future
Struggles would not entirely pass
But a belief in peace
Unbroken - might be regained.
Hope can recover, just,
But some tide must turn.
Moral progress not falter
Fear of each other, vanquish,
Trust rule this new domain.
Easy to forget what precious truth
Human Sacrifice brought:
That consciousness
Remains both a gift
And a curse
If we could break the trance
Uphold a beacon - find
A masthead on which to hang
The brightest sail -
Then the unfelt pain of future
Struggles would not entirely pass
But a belief in peace
Unbroken - might be regained.
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