I sit near a fire, and watch the flies of the night,
Coming again and again,
To end up being burnt, and dead.
I think of the peace they are trying to get, unwavering.
And then I look to our society,
And to the crimes we commit in the name of peace.
Are we committing suicide?
The way those flies are killing themselves unaware?
Then I take a pen, and I write.
Sonnet 46
Nigh a campfire, in a chill black night
I see dead and limping flies on the ground,
They neared to seek the warmth, to seek the light
Yet in their own understanding were drowned.
No peace was there in the vacuous dark
Neither here upon the flames of fire,
Unless in death and death is the hallmark
Of peace, then let us in death aspire.
Upon my people I cast a sad look,
For in the name of Peace we rape and kill,
Then we fake Truth and put it in a book,
To cover our ill, and the blood we spill.
In the wilderness I search and I find,
Much more peace than in the realm of mankind.
