the earth cries out for peace,
her rocks and grasses,
high mountains and trees,
seek the quelling
of bloodthirsty masses.

our lust for blood resounds
in the deep sorrow
that nigh abounds
from these human hearts
that fear a dark morrow.

inside a fractured cask
lay seedlings of hope
growing to hold fast
as the children
who will with peace elope.

these weeping warriors
whose worldly burden
for land holier
will find their joy
when all see all as kin.