The gentile winds roam the fields,
where once croppses were grown.
The beauty of nature, never to yield,
the cropses would be reborn.
The seed would spread acros the plains,
but no flowers did grow.
for of the inhumanity, everything that remains,
are pictures that some treasure so.
The seed of life was torn away,
by damnation's filthy pride.
In trenches and tanks they would stay,
in politics they would hide.
The older men, who made war by false lie,
ordered the younger to fight, and die.
I.M. "The good aspect of war is redundancy of soldiers" - Ernest Hemingway.
"What is there left to fight for, when destruction is at hand? who would ever want to conqueor, a war torn, destroyed land?" - Jonathan K.