To A Far Better Shore

An angel was seen in the area, pale and bright and golden.
>
> Not
to the strings pulling the bloodshed was she beholden.
>
> She carried
a man in her arms, who had been lost in the war.
>
> She carried him out of this world,
to a far better shore.
>
> So many bodies, so much blood, so many hearts will be broken.
>
> But it never ends, never changes,
all the same old curses spoken.
>
> The
angel walked, silently weeping tears bright as the midday sun,
>
>
along an shattered street, children, mother to be, all under the gun.
>
> The mother
to be feels her child stir, tearful as the angel passes
> silent.
>
> She wonders will it be
a boy or girl, love or hate, victim or one of
> the violent?
>
> She wonders will it know peace, will it know war, will it be
> cherished, or
tossed away?
>
> Will it be sheltered from this dead end world, will their be
an ear to
> hear it pray?
>
> The children watch the
angel pass, torn up by her weeping, and why it
>
all means.
>
> They counted flowers once,
and heard that angel’s happy voice, a host
>
and queen.
>
> Is that man
almost fortunate, for he is been taken home, to that happy
>
and eternal place.
>
> Is that man
almost better off, for he can hurt nor bleed anymore,
> despite terror on his face.
>
>
And the angel walks up the stairs to the clouds and to a hole in the
> sun, disappears.
>
> What damnable tenderness, what cruel devotion,
to see what can be in
> these tears.
>
>
And the silence fades and the bombs and gunfire roars, but the spell
> still lingers on.
>
> Will there be
a happy and eternal place for us, when death comes, the
> gun is drawn?

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