Tell me the story stamped down on anvil,
How the world began from void, with a blast,
And, how men came to knowledge, good and evil.
How nations rose and fell as time spins fast.
Skip not how men wrest over tools of woes,
And the crimson tide that flowed at war’s gate,
With the passing of precious guiltless souls,
Which sought escape with tears, Alas! Too late.
Oh! Begin from the tears of eve back then,
To the grievous ills that men did to men.
Read aloud the news, The heart wrenching gloom!
Begin with the heat of Auschwitz caldron,
To Hiroshima’s bone dreadful piles of doom.
Souls that drank hemlock from ‘Siren’s flagon,
As conscience broke down before wickedness.
How we all ignored the loud warning bell,
And gave our hearts to wanton craftiness!
Still, men dig deep for instruments of hell!
With the histories we know, we never learn.
Makes me wonder if we ever will. When?
________________
Vittorio_Topaz
How does this sound?
YOU ARE READING
THE BLUE
Poetry...just words, with more meaning than length can tell, just like the heart. We call them poems, but I tag it, 'the blue'...
