We must induce labour
from a womb distended
Swollen for a dreary decade,
The candles are burning
the wax made from blood
the wick from ropes of artery
the candles bum to eat the night
In a ward mood
Swords are beaten to pen
In a war mood
the wind rustles the dust
too long I stood
waiting for this wind
but its sharp fangs appeared
piercing the wraps of my dreams
In this war mod
Pens must become guns
The world needs peace....
Thanks for your time