Often do I sit and stare,
Sometimes in contemplative despair,
Those bloody tides
Patterned with blank purity
Seen in the flow of distant nations.
There the crimson stains
Of the dared not refrain -
Splatter of the earthly spirit,
The essence of living,
Smeared delicately upon that waving canvas.
Brutal, barbaric truth, it Does Not seem.
There's denial in that extreme.
The altar of the willing sacrifice,
Ceaselessly drenched thick and crimson,
From blurry dawn to condemning eve.
Oh, here is the faded light.
I count fifty star tonight,
Guarded by martyred men.
The cost of range-less horizons,
Told by the bubbling blood stream
Blood staining white rows;
From blue, starburst grows.
Colonized world of England;
Unrest guiding the fitful hand;
Tea overboard by men so bold;
The shot heard around the world.
Two flags raised, tattered and torn;
North and South, bayonets borne;
Anger bubbling like water on boil;
Brother against brother on homeland soil.
Cracking gunfire and roaring tanks;
Marching men in filed ranks;
Bitter poisonous mustard inhaled;
Scattering men not bullet impaled.
Cruel men being to rise;
Countries Axis or Allies;
Concentration of mass death;
Genocide bringer of last breath.
Blood staining white rows;
From blue, starburst grows.