The war is not over.
The meek fight to inherit the earth
Over airy base of war ruined castles
Nations, creeds, everything yours and mine –
Wrapped in golden words,
The word that was an invention.
Dreams of either or may make you shiver.
You take up the gauntlet for a just cause
While the merchants of war have the last laugh.
Peace, violence, death, life and foolishness
Are means to an end, to someone’s end.
Crowds gather for enslavement
To spiced up stories, to invent
Another just cause to die for.
The meek, the nobles and the kings
Meanwhile profess peace.
For you, me and the whole of humanity.
Welcome the meek with blood,
the noble with inventions,
and the king with approval.
Ssssss….. a trade secret.