Folly.

 

 

Folly.

 

War when long and drawn out throws its challenge
of thorns to fighters
caught up in sharing foes, folly's wounds cry
for cease to false rights. 

 

Men start to forget who spilt first blood, who began
the shooting of hate
into guiltless bodies when filled with terror
not of their making.

 

Rage, no longer understood sees it insane for death
to stain earth endlessly
so brotherhood rises in love-parched hearts
desiring to mend.

 

When life is read rightly eyes melt in pity and cool
iron once smoking-hot,
teeth chatter no more in fear as hands raise
flags for battle to stop.

 

Celled in the same grief death readily calls
for opposing despoilers to cease from war.

Reviews

[Chris Shaw]

A most fitting write for this week Fay. Once started, and once blood is spilled it spirals beyond all control so easily and yet cease fires are so very difficult to maintain. Deep wounds that are never forgotten. No one wins in war and WE never seem to learn that lesson. Written with your usual eloquence, carefully selected vocabulary and excellent poetic expression. Very nicely conveyed lines.

Chris

[Fay Slimm]

Sincere thanks to you Chris for your very perceptive review of "Folly"