Still Winter

A sorrow tale of losing hope in the bureaucracy that drives this world to war.

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I tell the tale with blood smeared;

Twice as bless' d yet half afeared.

I stand among the slain remains

When I wish for the street lanes.

The masses take the martyrs inked

Yet never once do they even blink

They will not see the toll it takes

For they can't feel what a war makes

I covet being in my home's ingle

And leaning beside my office shingle

Away from the vacuous carnage

Away from the ministerial garbage