War is the river that washes away

the dirt and grime of a nation’s mistakes,

cleaning the water for another day.

But man, unable to appease its aches,

lets waters of war never stop their flow.

And with no dirt left the water erodes

the bed underneath; foundations below

give way for men with guns and broken roads.

But think of a day when war is to cease.

In the aftermath a great dam is built.

Come every war is an attempt for peace.

For the next few years man’s bloodlust will wilt.

Yet hatred still builds and the dam gives way,

a new age of violence will have its say.