A bomb drops on a sleeping town
And though
It may not make a sound
The death
It brings makes mince of things
And turns what’s forward, straight around
A mother cries, and hides her son
She does
Not know where she can run
The sirens
Blare, as do the guns
This will become a hallowed ground
War it is, this sleeping town
The whistles
Blow, so clear and loud
The signs and lines are drawn, they’re in
Awaiting, now
A world, ne’er found
Some day perhaps, some day might be
A pacifist
Epiphany
I do not dare ponder just where
It might be true
With peace, abound
How the World Should Work 