War

It quells
With death
And tides of blood.
Sows the seeds of
Strife.
Only to reap
The souls of the
Lost.

Trumpet calls
Turn to funeral
Marches,
And battle cries
Quickly morph into
Rattles of death
And dying air.

War, in truth
Is pointless.
We are all
Human.
Is it our nature
To hate those
Of our own kind?

Endless bloodshed
For what cause?
Momentary peace in
The grand scheme
Of time?

We can only strive
For a instance of
Silence
Between the drumbeats of
War.