naykdpoet

Are we, the common Peoples of this world who cry,
Ponds to those whom sit on true power of high,
Source to the strings to what does unfold,
Devious, detached to what scourge they behold?

The birth to this historical era of fright and death,
Were it a forethought or spontaneous plan,
Either way, it has taken on a life that flourishes,
Fed by the rancour of unyielding, insatiable foes.

Unrelenting, seems the flow of blood spawned by hate,
Instigated in defence of distorted, theocratic ideology
Yet, questionable to the camouflage cover it provides
Scrupulously; the truth to reason and purpose it hides.

If this be rai·son d’ê·tre to those whom look down,
What they serve to accomplish is more blood soaked ground;
For the illness of mind that is now ravenously being unleashed,
Finds service of comfort to Faith, the more of their enemy to defeat.

Borderless, this trauma seems likely to find its course,
Opposition to its viral spread made more difficult to source,
Like a pandemic virus inoculation of remedy taking time to find,
All the while, liberty of life and freedoms obliged to decline.

The darkest of clouds bought by the unrest has yet to manifest,
To be avoided, those of righteous standing must come to the test;
Knowing full well the cause to what incites this scourge to unfold,
In service to humanity; they must come forth, let the truth finally be told.