A poem I wrote

and I usually don't write poems.

Why must we fight
again and again?
Why can't we just learn
to love instead?

Feeling abandoned,
wanting more,
still we fight;
love walks out the door.

With explosive force
that tears up the night
never we stop,
always we fight.

Bullets will tear,
men will lay dying.
But still we won't stop,
even as mothers are crying.

Still the same,
we always need more.
No matter what,
to war, to war!

The old men choose
when the young men will die.
Never come home,
always love flies.

Pulverized bones,
lungs gasping for air,
they once were loved,
but where, o where?

A blood-soaked field,
the sky turns to ash.
The warm times we kept
are moments long passed.

Have we lost
the right, and the wrong?
Is hate all we fell,
again, to arms!

A shattered wasteland
where love has wept.
The warm blood seeps
over memories kept.

Love has vanished,
there is no trace.
When I look up,
I see Death's grinning face.

His sunken eyes,
black cloak of dread,
closer he glides,
he wants my head.

I glance in the reflection
of a world I once knew.
Down swings the scythe,
wait! I found you!

Wide open arms,
a warm smiling face.
I pull myself back
to Love's warm embrace.