When death charmed the virgin bullet,
When war was expectant with warriors, the children of death,
the spirit spat out,
corpses of stallions into the drowning seas,
the valiance of battalions on unforgiving battlefields.
Bodies made of life, for Nations made of land. Both scalded.

If we were not a bewitched audience to tall men, megaphones and numb speeches.
Instead.
Voyeurs in this bloodbath.
If classrooms of history stood amidst this theatre of war,
And saw the carnage play out through a scarlet glass,
Would we be part of this planned Serendipity?
A part of this rehearsal,
For yet another war for peace?