Fear the clouds of war.
Have torn wounds reopen
upon the stone of god!
Why?
I hear the hiccups
from a weapon's satanic cry.
From a language of hate.
Riddles of unwanted humor.
Play marionette play.
Our sons and fathers
as wooden as
a thought unspoken by such a master.
Reality heals the wounds
that lay upon the demon's
sand paper skin.
God forgive us.
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