Broken windows in the dark–
Torn apart by lusty needs.
Does the pagan thirst succeed–
Or does it crumble into a used up heap?
Does it glisten like the sun–
Tempting those who have not won?
Where do these dead men go–
On the shores of milky bays,
Or do they scurry through lonely ways?
What becomes of the sharpened knives?
Are they thrown or do they die?
Where does this vicious cycle end–
In a friendly fire or a peaceful land?
~ Ariana Spalter