Again comes the cry, again comes the mourn,
Clutched fingers in hair over flowers forlorn;
Candles all lit till the night wetly glows,
Coffins wrapped neatly in black satin bows.
Shadows beg mercy where mercy’s unknown,
Prayers and peace offerings, fruitlessly sown,
The desperately hoping more love will suffice
For those taking no less than blood sacrifice.
There’s left but one answer to those who love death,
Whose sword demands kneeling until the last breath,
Those blinded to reason, faith shrouding their eyes
Till blackened beaks probe, their creed’s final prize.
There’s left but one choice, for those who love life,
In answer to those sworn to murder and strife:
When faith-deafened minds every argument shun,
When no word can turn what no logic has won,
When pleas cannot stay the raised knife or drawn gun,
Swift granting of death is the deed sooner done.
~ Quent Cordair