Studio8 - Uniting the Arts

Metamorph to nothingness.
Scurry to explosion.
Let shrapnel rein,
from bulging forehead vain.
God has been hijacked,
by a war again.

Mercy isolates.
On her mountain alone.
Shaking her head,
wailing on her bed.
She'll have to explain later,
the destiny of the dead.

Life go on.
Pretend not to see.
Nothing can be done,
until the war is won.
Wait, pray that soon,
a celebration come.

A little haggard and weary at this point.

Indeed, I am haggard and weary myself......with all of it.
But we slog on. We must.
H